Being poorly sick sucks. This cold has gone to my chest. But it is providing good inspiration for my 100 days of writing.
A tired crip sits in her wheelchair somewhat unwillingly. It's really not a good day for her but life doesn't stop and she's forced to continue on her journey. So she wheels on and on in a slow plodding manner lacking her usual energy.
The land she's journeying through is a tough one, bleak with more obstacles than The Country of Everyday Life and she searches desperately for the road that will lead her there once again. Somehow she's spent the last several days in the Realm of The Cold with no end in sight. Happy days and fun times seem a distant memory. The landscape is one of tissues, lip balm and Olbas Oil, in no way what a crip wants to see on her journey.
Suddenly the journey gets harder. The crip needs to rest more often. But that rest gets interrupted constantly by the need to keep moving. Things aren't looking good.
Until. A glimmer of hope.
A fork in the road.
Heartened the crip speeds up her wheeling believing her return to The Country of Everyday Life could be down that fork.
Full of hope she heads down it. Pleased to see The Realm of The Cold disappearing behind her.
Until. Hope disappears.
The crip finds herself in The Land of The Chest Infection.