Flu Shot

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
An Italian sonnet based on a true story.

Submitted: May 17, 2017

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Submitted: May 17, 2017



I am in the small, cold and white quarters

Strapped in the cushioned chair’s tight embrace

Which gave no comfort. Holding my arm in place,

I am shot and invaded by foreigners.

Pain… Pain is the first thing I comprehend.

The sharp pain soon turned into long despair.

The despair turned into crying. Unaware

Of what happened around me, this was the end

I felt. But soon, the pain started going

Away. All that was left was a phantom,

Not enough to where I felt I was dying.

I continued to cry, the tears flowing

Down. I asked a question through my tantrum:

If there is no pain, why am I crying?

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