But then he remembers that actually he only has himself to blame for his current state of incapacity.
Oh golly, thinks Dylan. It’s divine retri.., ritri… Oh, he didn’t know what it was.
You see, not only did he eat the whole tub of Phish Food ice cream, he also then lied to his Mum about it. Whilst he leans over his sick bucket, it occurs to him that he doesn’t know which crime he feels most guilty about.
And then he thinks, given that I am sick, perhaps this is punishment enough? Maybe I don’t need to feel guilty anymore?
He curls back up under the duvet, wondering how he had got himself into the situation in the first place. His mother’s voice interrupts his thoughts.
“Dylan, I’m coming upstairs. Do you need anything?”
He calls back in the negative. And then, suddenly, she is there.
“So, are you sure that there’s nothing that you want to tell me, Dylan?”
(to be continued)
© Vicky Newham 2012. All rights reserved.