小画家 67

What should I say? Peter had never said this since he started working as a security guard eight years ago. Most of the men he faced were sweaty men, so most of them broke and torn, so he had nothing to say. Only twice, there were times when I had to deliver a very serious disease, but my mouth was not as open as it is now. Peter clapped his lips like a man with a heavy pendulum at the tip of his lips.

"I'm fine, so tell me."

When Lewis said something that seemed to make the other person feel comfortable, Peter swallowed the words, "No, I'm not okay."

"...you know, Louis. Have you been feeling a little strange lately? No, about four months ago."

When Peter asked carefully, Lewis tilted his head.

"Strange?"

It was a dull retort. Peter recited the anticipated symptoms to the blank face.

"For example, I often feel dizzy or nauseated. Like a back or a stomachache...….”

"Oh, I think so."

Come to think of it, Lewis recalled that it was.

"Well, I'm okay with sitting still, but last month, I was so nauseous just by smelling the food. I used to only eat fruits. But I feel better these days."

"…I see. You're feeling better."

You haven't visited the hospital in the meantime. For four months, Peter sighed for a moment in front of a friend who looked dull and stupid. Oh, my God, you stupid little bear. Peter buried his face in his hands and held back what he wanted to cry for a moment.

"Why?"