• Magdalena Reilly

Story #2: The Hypochondriac

Standing at the bus stop, with a cold wind on my cheeks, I zipped up my jacket. As the bus arrives, it brings with it a gust of a diesel cloud. Now enflaming my nostrils as I board the bus.

I watch people holding their tiny TV screens in their hands with wires going into their ears; no one is reading. Holding my book in my hands seems somewhat archaic, almost out of style. I check my bright screen for the time out of habit. My watch broke and this is the only time keeper I have.

My book is the fidgety type and it’s hard to keep it open. The pages sewn tight at the seams. I only read a few sentences before the bus turns and stops begin making me nauseous.

A man comes on board, coughing phlegm balls and sneezing. I began to panic and start feeling claustrophobic with all the windows closed. “I am going to get sick being here,” I thought.

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