A woman stumbled in, calling for help.
“Doctor! Please—his stomach won’t stop hurting. He’s been running to the toilet all night.”
“Now he’s just lying there like a corpse. And the blanket—smells awful.”
Fenzaar opened the door.
Then stopped.
A man lay slumped on the bed.
Small, watery brown stains decorated the fabric.
A questionable smell drifted through the doorway.
“Eko. Mask.”
The man clutched his stomach. Lips dry. Voice cracked.
“It’s a curse,” he moaned. “A belly curse. My enemy—he hexed me after the harvest feast!”
He farted. Once. Then again.
Grabbed his belly. Twitched.
His lover had already fled.
Fenzaar, now masked and gloved, approached without a hint of politeness.
Checked his pulse. Fast.
“What’s the last thing you ate?”
“Leftover fish stew. What? Don’t look at me like that—I couldn’t waste food.”
Fenzaar nodded once. Then asked:
“Symptoms? Fever? Watery diarrhea? Cramping?”
“…No fever. It’s not a sickness—it’s him!
My rival! He tugged my hair once—he must’ve cursed me—”
Fenzaar finally looked up.
Sighed. Eye-roll.
Voice smooth, edged like a scalpel:
“In my professional opinion… it appears you’ve consumed something both unwise and unwashed.”
From his bag, he pulled a vial of glittery orange powder.
Poured it into hot water. It fizzed.
“Drink this. All of it.”
“Is that… a potion?”
Fenzaar stirred the glass calmly.
“It’s called rehydration salts.”
Eko added helpfully:
“Highly effective for dramatic village men in gastrointestinal distress.”
Fenzaar smiled.
“Exactly.”
The man sipped. His face crumpled.
“It’s salty.”
“So is my patience.”
Eko stepped forward with a cloth and pail.
“Look after him,” Fenzaar said. “And add an extra charge for damage to my nose.”
Then he turned back to the man.
“Eko will monitor you. Just drink the potion. You’ll be fine.If it gets worse, he’ll call me.”
“Bless you, Witch Doctor.”
“Survive this first.
Then curse whoever you like.
But maybe aim for the fish next time.”
…..
:: Fenzaar’s Case Notes ::
Diagnosis: Self-inflicted intestinal trauma.
Cause: Stupidity, fermented stew.
Symptoms: Delusion, diarrhea, dramatic farting.
Prognosis: Will survive. Will not learn.
Recommended Action:
Next time, curse the fish. 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Not the rival.
⸻
≡ Next Case : I Have No Mouth, But I Still Want to Scream
Quiet horror. A misread goodbye. A robot left holding silence.
Comments (0)
See all