I've got the poison

There I laid, for what seemed like the 37th day of my never-ending bedridden existence. I thought and thought and thought. The great thing about being sick is that it forces thought. Voluntary movement is limited because it just hurts too much and daytime television definitely can't be watched. In between feverish and uncomfortable naps are these inevitable silent moments of thought, staring at the ceiling and wondering, "Who really likes the color white anyway?" For three days I wondered whether I was dreaming, living, or wishful thinking. My little baby niece (that cannot speak yet) talked to me, I hung out with a friend of mine that lives 2,000 miles away, and I went spelunking. Nothing like a fever to alter your mind. At an earlier point in my poison, I was trapped in an abandoned apartment building. If I actually knew what the projects were like I could say that's where I was. There was an elevator in this building that was locked with big chains and padlocks. As I aimlessly wandered around the building, I stumbled upon a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters. You know the kind that look like shears. Being guided by the poison, the logical next step was to take the bolt cutters and cut the locks off the elevator. Beyond the clanking of heavy chains on the floor I faintly heard the delicate footsteps of a small child. It's never a good sign when you can see yourself making "horror movie" mistakes. Curiosity DID kill the cat and I'm completely comfortable in saying that the cat deserved whatever horrible death it had to endure. Even so, as curious as that same cat, I boarded the elevator to investigate the echoing noises. To be continued...