Tales from the Battlefield

"Sickness comes on horseback, but goes away on foot." --William C. Hazlitt

I neglect you, dear readers, due to impoverished health. I blame my body. For some reason or other, it seems to have forgotten that it is supposed to be invincible. Bad memory, I suppose.

Relatively germ free on Sunday night, I was struck Monday morning. A sneak attack. I rallied the troops and we made a stunning effort at retaliation but somehow, the illness snuck behind me and we were crushed by that old military maneuver; The Hammer and the Anvil.
Resulting losses are too devastating to mention.

I spent an indeterminate amount of time on the battlefield, consciousness flickering like a guttering candle, and listened to the sounds of my fallen comrades. They fared better than I, their wounds less egregious. We were rescued just after nightfall. Our brilliant General snuck stealthily onto the field, recovered our failing bodies, and disappeared like a huff of breath in the chill winter air. The General's armor is clearly superior to mine own, as he remains stalwart and unmovable. He has provided nourishment and rest but had to leave us to recover alone; heading back to do as he must. He is, after all, the General.

My fellow soldiers seem to be recovering more steadily while I try to resist the lure of darkness. It would be easier to surrender. But my companions are impatient and demand nourishment. I am their superior. It is my duty to look after them, especially while the General is away. The medics ply us with their concoctions but they are slow to act. It will take time for us to recoup from these losses.

But we must recover. There are battles to be fought, wars to be won, and accolades that must be ours! This enemy is powerful but must be stopped. If we fail...it could spread over the land and thousands could be lost to its awesome power. No! We must prevail! We will deny the wicked overlords of the Instacare and their cruel minions, the co-pay.

The task has fallen upon me, dear friends. I alone will suffer this misery so that I can spare you and all others who might otherwise fall under the cold shadow of illness. This sickness must die with me.

Stay back! Do not try to dissuade me! Just promise me this one thing: when you gather with your loved ones and fear no infection, when you breathe and are not hampered by the need for abrasive tissue, when you pass a doctor and flash that shiny apple at him...remember me.

And let the wind whisper...Elliot.

[No! Not "Elliot" from E.T.! Me, people! Me!]