He remembers the chat all too clearly. Perhaps that is one of his problems. The fact that he remembers. Now he remembers that, along with everything else. The other memories play back like some old movie in black and white, a classic. He takes those in.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

He’d laughed it off. Muttered something about how he had taken ill on the day itself. They laughed that chat laugh. LOL.

Saturday seems okay. He takes his medicine and sits down to watch the telly. It’s Charlie’s Angels 2. The part that killed the franchise. His mind keeps drifting in and out, picking up snippets of the movie at random intervals. Suddenly it feels like the temperature has dropped drastically. He has goose bumps. Then the mosquitoes came.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

He goes to bed, plugs the headset into his phone an tries to listen to music. He fails. He’s started shivering. Terribly. He wraps himself up in a duvet and then a blanket for good measure. They don’t help. He turns off the music and prays. Hoping for a miracle. No. Believing for one.

Somehow he manages to drift into slumber, but only just, his is a restless night.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

Daylight streams through. It doesn’t wake him, as it should. He is up. Relieved somewhat that the shivering has stopped. He isn’t trembling anymore. The morning seems to have brought with it some relief. He’s never been so happy in the morning. Well, he has. Weeks ago. Focus. That’s what keeps him going. That and a bit of denial.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

He takes his medicine and starts up the PC. He logs in to his messenger account, waiting, hoping. Then when that doesn’t work, he goes and watches Boston Legal. That takes a lot of stuff off his mind. Briefly. Then he feels cold again. He tries the computer again. Nothing. At all.

He begins to hack away at the keyboard, a wry smile playing on his lips. The stuff he is typing out will not be read. Not now anyway. Perhaps some other time in the future. He figures he will keep compiling these things, piece by piece until the time comes. He flinches at the use of the cliché. He posts it on his other blog. He can’t type as comfortably as he has been. His fingers have gone near-numb from the cold. He rubs his hands trying to generate heat. It doesn’t work.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

He takes his meal and goes to lie down. He tries to watch a movie. I Think I Love My Wife. Chris Rock really is recycling old material. His mind is not on the movie though.
He tries to read a book. Starter for 10. The title doesn’t make sense to a degree. Then he figures it must refer to the first question in a quiz worth 10 marks.

He really is feeling cold now; he wraps himself up in his duvet-blanket combo. He can’t sleep right away, so he sends a couple of text messages. His brother tells him he should see the doctor. He says the doctor is not available till tomorrow.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

He says his health is in the hands of “mummy”. He laughs at that. The use of the word “mummy”. Makes him feel sort of wimpy. He grimaces at the word “wimpy”.

Then he sleeps. He wakes feeling particularly hot. He has a fever and some trouble breathing. He reaches for his phone, goes to the message function, “may I please have a glass of juice”. The message is sent. He feels a little spent. There’s a delivery report stating that the message has been delivered. He wonders why, after five minutes there’s no response. Then it comes.

It’s a wave of panic. Temperature checked in the traditional hand on neck way. Then more panic. “You need to go to the doctor. Now! Call your brother up”. He dials the number and feels exhausted. He lets her take the call.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

With a great amount of difficulty he takes a bath. Lord knows what kind of tests they will subject him to. He gets out of the bathtub and proceeds to brush his teeth. He considers the irony of the situation. As it is, he seems trapped between two extremes. It’s either way too cold or too hot. It seems to be a reflection of various aspects of his life. He laughs it off. Makes a mental note to type out what has been happening since Friday.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?

He considers the possibility that this is the end. He laughs it off. It’s not easy though, since his chest hurts. He is one of the good guys, one of those destined for big things. It is a little narcissistic, he knows, but he also knows it is a mentality that has helped him keep a positive outlook on life. Yes, he may have fallen a couple of times off the wagon that is life, but he keeps on getting up and keeps on keeping on. He still has loads to do, write a book or at the very least read the one they keep talking about.

He dresses up and waits for his brother, he feels tempted to switch on the PC and start typing. Start telling his story. His brother arrives soon though and that’s a matter he will have to attend to later.

The clinic they go to has no doctor’s, but the person at the reception, a lady with the sunny disposition of an undertaker, suggests that he sees a nurse. He leaves.

There’s some deliberation over where medical aid can be gotten on a Sunday. He finds a place. It’s about an hour and half before someone attends to him. It’s a young doctor. He seems bored.

He is subjected to a couple of tests. He actually hopes they find something in there. There’s some comfort in knowing what’s killing you. They don’t. The bored doctor recommends that he keeps on taking the medicine he has… and that he hydrates.

Its not particularly exciting news, but it could have been worse he supposes.

Home at last, he powers up his PC and begins to type…

“Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13^th?…”