Illness

Christina stood in the kitchen, leaning against the cold stove. Her eyes were shut tight, her stomach was knotted tighter, and a fowl taste sat in her mouth--a taste that she could not wash away. She felt herself growing more and more ill with each passing moment. Every fleeting thought resulted in the same churning in her stomach. She turned to face the oven, an empty pot before her, her mouth hanging open slightly, ready at any moment for the contents of her empty stomach to be forced upward.

The front door burst open, startling Christina. She spun around to see Charles walk in. He looked over at Christina, his eyes seemed sunk and the color in his skin was gone. He removed his hat and cloak quickly and ran upstairs, shutting the door loudly behind him.

She moved up the stairs quietly and opened the door to the bedroom slowly. She could see Charles' shadow stretched out silently on the floor. The floor creaked slightly as she stepped into the room, looking around the door to see only his silhouette against the moonlight pouring through the open window. He did not move. The air in the room was cold. She made her way slowly across the room. He seemed wholly unaware of her presence, his mind drifting off to other, less pleasant places. She stopped, standing behind him, and put her hands softly of his shoulders. His head turned slightly and suddenly from the sudden return to reality.

"Charles," she whispered, stroking the back of his head and neck gently. "Charles, you did all you could."

He turned to look at her, the tears welling in his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Why wasn't it enough?" A tear began to roll down his cheek. "Why wasn't it enough?" He leaned into her embrace and silently wept.