Post by ISAM ZAHID on Dec 20, 2016 1:11:40 GMT
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He was supposed to be going out and getting drunk. It was nearly Christmas and everyone and their mother was heading out to a festive party in some shady nightclub to drink too much and spend too much. But not Isam. Oh no. He had, of course, planned to do all of those things - and more. But he was currently sitting on the end of his bed with his head in his hands, grimacing at the pain shooting through his skin.
He had woken up that morning, well early afternoon, with a severe need for rehydration. He had been out the night before, after work, and had found himself crawling back into bed at about four in the morning. Hours later when he had dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom he noticed a collection of ugly teenage angst on his face. Acne. He had Acne. He'd never had spots appear so quickly. Dotted like freckles across the tops of his cheeks. Fortunately he had actually purchased an anti-pimple potion from a guy he knew that he had been assured was the best potion on the market for clearing up skin. Apparently there was some ingredient that no-maj's used as well. Isam wasn't sure but had bought the stuff anyway just to be nice and, well, now seemed as good a time as any to try it out.
But once the potion was on his skin, Isam began to feel a tingling sensation on his face and before he could get the potion off his skin had turned a bright red colour; and while the spots had gone - yay - there was a horrible rash in its place. It felt awful. Like the burning you get when you find yourself in an embarrassing situation, but this time the red didn't go away.
And so, sitting on the edge of his bed, Isam had two choices. He could try and make a potion himself to fix it (he hadn't received the best marks in potions class) and hope that he could get it right; or he could actually go to hospital and get it fixed up. The reason why he was hesitant about going into hospital was that he had already been there once in the last week after getting in a drunken fight. The healer that had seen him, Damiani?, had patched him up and sent him off with a fetching eye-patch and a healing potion to fix him up. Isam didn't want the shame of seeing the same guy twice in a week with two very stupid reasons.
But the pain was too much to bare and Isam was pretty sure it was starting to affect his vision.
So grabbing a jacket he took a deep breath before apparating into the front entrance of the hospital. Wincing slightly he made his way to the reception desk and explained his predicament to the witch that was sat there. She seemed to be sympathetic, but he could tell she was also rushed off her feet. She gave him a number and asked him to sit in the waiting room and, well, wait.
He just hoped to Merlin that whoever was going to be looking at him knew how to help because the burning was just getting worse.
He had woken up that morning, well early afternoon, with a severe need for rehydration. He had been out the night before, after work, and had found himself crawling back into bed at about four in the morning. Hours later when he had dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom he noticed a collection of ugly teenage angst on his face. Acne. He had Acne. He'd never had spots appear so quickly. Dotted like freckles across the tops of his cheeks. Fortunately he had actually purchased an anti-pimple potion from a guy he knew that he had been assured was the best potion on the market for clearing up skin. Apparently there was some ingredient that no-maj's used as well. Isam wasn't sure but had bought the stuff anyway just to be nice and, well, now seemed as good a time as any to try it out.
But once the potion was on his skin, Isam began to feel a tingling sensation on his face and before he could get the potion off his skin had turned a bright red colour; and while the spots had gone - yay - there was a horrible rash in its place. It felt awful. Like the burning you get when you find yourself in an embarrassing situation, but this time the red didn't go away.
And so, sitting on the edge of his bed, Isam had two choices. He could try and make a potion himself to fix it (he hadn't received the best marks in potions class) and hope that he could get it right; or he could actually go to hospital and get it fixed up. The reason why he was hesitant about going into hospital was that he had already been there once in the last week after getting in a drunken fight. The healer that had seen him, Damiani?, had patched him up and sent him off with a fetching eye-patch and a healing potion to fix him up. Isam didn't want the shame of seeing the same guy twice in a week with two very stupid reasons.
But the pain was too much to bare and Isam was pretty sure it was starting to affect his vision.
So grabbing a jacket he took a deep breath before apparating into the front entrance of the hospital. Wincing slightly he made his way to the reception desk and explained his predicament to the witch that was sat there. She seemed to be sympathetic, but he could tell she was also rushed off her feet. She gave him a number and asked him to sit in the waiting room and, well, wait.
He just hoped to Merlin that whoever was going to be looking at him knew how to help because the burning was just getting worse.
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