18. There are worse things than death

A few hours later.

“I don't feel good,” I bent in half from the sudden sharp pain. My stomach was churning.

“Just in case, I have no idea where the first aid kit is in this house,” said Grant.

I reached for the water bottle, unscrewed the cap and gulped down half the remaining liquid, then grimaced in pain again. Grant didn't care at all about my condition; he was sitting on his phone, checking the latest news as the internet descended upon us.

An unpleasant rumbling went through my whole body.

“It's either the condensed milk with peas or the dumplings...” I groaned.

A hunch struck me almost immediately. I leapt to my feet and dragged the fellow into the kitchen. Under Grant's puzzled gaze, I rummaged through the rubbish. The packet was quickly found.

I blew a loose strand from my forehead, my eyes feverishly scanning the lines. Then relaxed and lost what little self-control I had left.

“Grant, I know you don't have much of a brain, almost as much as me. But did you think to check the expiry date?”

“Do dumplings have an expiry date?”

“Yes,” I said in a deadened voice. “And those dumplings should have said goodbye two years ago...”

“Oh no, it seems I'm feeling something too.”

I still did not understand, and he took me by the arm. There was a nondescript door at the end of the corridor. Grant quickly removed the chain and bracelet from his wrist and fastened it to the doorknob, then disappeared into a small, bright room with a toilet bowl.

And all would have been well, except that after a minute I was overcome by an urgent desire to ‘communicate’ with this ‘white friend’ as well.

“Grant, Grant, come out quickly. Please, please, I can't take it anymore.”

The response I got was the rustle of tearing toilet paper and foul noises.

For the umpteenth time these days, I have realised that death is not the worst thing in this world.