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The fog cloaked everything in new garb; even the most innocent sapling turned dark and sinister. Its cold gloomy mist spread quietly, affecting everything in its path, not being a respecter of anything.
Cells divided and multiplied unrepressed, growing into an ugly dark mass, as the beast raised its ugly head and journeyed beyond its boundaries.
Henry wasn't aware of the activity going on inside his body. With the exception of the dry, lingering cough that plagued him, he felt fine. After a few weeks though, the old man started to feel run down and his cough progressively became worse. Damned allergies!
His habitual morning walk to Mom's Caf for coffee became a chore. What normally took thirty minutes became an hour, then two. By the time Henry made it home, he was out of breath and wiped out for the rest of the day. Guess I need to quit smoking. He finally stopped going to the caf.
Henry's neighbor drove him to the clinic in late October. The doctor wanted to run some tests. Maybe I should call my daughter. No, I'm not going to bother her with my menial problems. She's got enough on her plate right now.
When he got home, he plopped down in his favorite chair and turned on the television. It wasn't long before fatigue took over and he fell asleep. The five o'clock news was almost over before he tried to drum up enough energy to get out of his recliner to get something to eat. Need to rest a while longer.
The fog continued to travel through Henry's body, branching off to attach itself to other organs, taking up residence in his liver and adrenals. Then it picked up its pace and started to multiply with unlimited force. Faster and faster, the masses spread like wildfire!
Henry dreamed of a symphony assembling itself inside his body. The orchestra tuned their instruments and then began to play Beethoven's Fifth. The music became louder and stronger, gaining momentum, power and drama. Cymbals crashed as the maestro brought the concert to its climax.
Henry woke from the dream, drenched in sweat. He moaned as he hoisted himself out of his recliner and stumbled to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and looked in the mirror at his swollen, whiskered face. Guess I need to lay off the salt. He splashed cold water over his head and dried himself off, then started for the bedroom. He stumbled on the threshold and fell to the floor. The old man laid there waiting for the wave of exhaustion to pass. With the little strength he had left, he pulled himself to his knees and crawled
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Short stories: Facing death
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