Hey everyone! I'm back with a new story...my second to be exact. I guess I can't stay away. Haha. This chapter isn't as long as the rest will be. It's almost like an introduction to the rest of the story - yet, I'm not really sure what the rest of the story entails. I guess we'll all get to be involved with the evolution as it takes place. With that said, have at it (that's what she said).

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. God, that's so sad to say.


Chapter 1

The incessant beeping of the alarm clock beside his bed was blaring in his ear. It had been for at least the last ten minutes. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't move. Every bone, every muscle, in his body ached. He was cold and shivery, but his body was slicked in sweat. His head was pounding and it wasn't because of the alarm clock, though it probably wasn't helping. He coughed and he felt like his insides were being hacked at with a machete and his throat screamed out in pain. To put it lamely, he was sick.

He finally mustered the strength to reach out his hand and turn off the alarm clock. In the process, however, he knocked the box of tissue to the floor and scraped his arm on the edge of his nightstand. He whimpered in pain, pulling his arm back underneath the covers. He tucked both arms tight to his body, rolled onto his side and pulled his knees up into his chest. His face was smashed against the pillow, pulling the left side of it taut.

Within mere seconds he was snoring gently against the pillow, but was ripped awake again when his stomach lurched. Even though he was in pain, he jumped out of bed quickly, with the agility of a cat and ran to the bathroom. Leaning over the porcelain of the toilet, he attempted to empty his stomach for the fifth time in two hours. Unfortunately there was nothing left in there to get rid of, so he dry-heaved and finally sent up more green stomach bile. It tasted disgusting in his mouth and once he'd flushed the toilet, he leaned over the sink. He sucked in cool water from his cupped hand, swirled it around in his mouth and spit it back out in the sink. He splashed more over his face and ran a dripping hand back over his neck.

He stayed there, leaned over at the sink with the water running for five minutes. Finally, when he thought his stomach could handle it, he pushed himself into a standing position and turned off the water. Without wiping the water off his face, he staggered back out of the bathroom and collapsed in a heap on his bed.

Moaning to himself, he searched back through his memories and couldn't come up with a single time he'd felt this horrible. When he was 10-years old he'd had the chicken pox, but that hadn't made him sick. All he remembered from that illness was the itching and burning. At 12-years-old he'd had strep throat for the first time, but that had only caused his throat to hurt and he was able to take some bubble-gum flavored antibiotic to get rid of that. When he was 16-years-old, he remembered getting the flu, the worst so far, but it still didn't compare to this. And once, about 2 years ago, he'd had a case of food poisoning, and even though that was the most upchucking he'd done to that point, he still hadn't felt this awful.

Slowly he made his way across the bed to his night stand. He reached out his hand and grabbed his cell phone off the table and rolled over on his back, arms sprawled out away from his body. He turned his head gradually to look at the cell phone lying in his hand. His thumb flipped it open and the pain that shot through his thumb and up his arm was excruciating. He pushed the star key, the number 4 and then the send button. Whimpering again, he pulled his arm toward himself and put the phone to his ear. It was already ringing.

One…

Two…

Three times it rang and finally the voicemail system picked up and her voice came softly over the phone line. "You have reached the office of Dunder-Mifflin. Our office hours are Monday though Friday, 8am to 5pm. If you know your parties extension, please enter it now, otherwise wait for the tone and leave a message. Thank you."

He waited ten seconds and finally there was a beep on the other end of the phone. He opened his mouth to speak and realized he'd not even checked to see if he could. "Hey." His voice was weak and scratchy. Not only did he feel like he was dying, it seemed that he sounded like he was as well. "It's me." He coughed and again, every part of his body was screaming in agony. "I'm not feeling well." He attempted a laugh, but it only made him erupt into another fit of coughs. "Okay," he managed to choke out. "I think that's an understatement." He took a deep breath. He never appreciated how much effort there was involved in making a phone call. "I'm not going to be in today." His stomach was lurching again. He had to make this quick. "Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks." He hung up the phone quickly and darted to the bathroom.

When he emerged a little while later, his face was looking paler than it had before he'd gone into the bathroom. He collapsed on the bed again and heard the faint beeping of his cell phone. It took more exertion than he would have liked, but he searched for the phone he knew he had left on the bed. Finally, he sat up and saw that he had been laying on it. He picked it up and lay back down on the bed. He was shivering again. He crawled under the covers of his bed and pulled them tight to his chin. He looked at his cell and saw that he had a voicemail. He just didn't have the strength to check to see who it was.

His body gave one last giant shudder and he dropped his phone beside him. He fell asleep.


Okay, so there you have it. Thanks in advance for the reviews. :) Another chapter should be up in a couple of days. Yay!