Peter Petrelli (anexplodingman) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-03-14 20:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | peter petrelli |
It started with a cough earlier that morning. Peter was busy scouring the internet for job listings in the area, babysitting his second cup of coffee when he first noticed the soreness of his throat and the cough. He ignored it at first - it must have just been the fact that he slept with a fan pointed in his face the night prior and he was experiencing a dry throat because of it. But as the day progressed, things took a turn for the worse. By noon he sat on his sofa, his entire body hot to the touch yet still shivering as if he'd been placed in a meat locker. He hadn't had the flu in years. Being that he worked in the medical field, vaccinations were a must. Having gone so long without experiencing it was probably what made his symptoms a lot worse. He felt childish. He was twenty-six and he was curled up in a ball on the sofa waiting for death to slowly take him. Peter longed for someone to bring him by a pot of soup and a magic potion that would clear him of all his illnesses. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen. What made the entire day worse was that he couldn't use any of his powers. He had to physically get up to get more water rather than levitating a glass under the faucet. Eventually he built up enough strength to order a pizza. He opted to use the computer rather than try and speak. His throat felt like it was closing up, scratchy and coarse. After watching the activity tracker of the pizza, Peter pulled on a sweatshirt over his tank and dragged himself to the elevator. He doubted security would let the delivery guy up. He was so out of it that he didn't notice he'd forgotten shoes until his toes touched the cool tile. Clad in his pajamas, he steadied himself and exited the elevator. It was suddenly like he was walking through the hallway in Inception. He lost and regained his balance, the room spun as if he were in a dryer, and the voices around him became muddled and all-together silent. He struggled to keep his eyes open and his feet moving. He felt the wave of nausea take over and was on his knees retching hard. He felt a hand on his shoulder but ached far too much turn his neck to see who the hand belonged to. He tried standing but his muscles gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. All he knew was that something was wrong, and it was getting harder and harder to stay awake. Peter stopped fighting it and fell unconscious. |