Who gets sick just in time for the weekend?

Of course it came on Friday night. That aridity of the air quickly set it's sensation on the back of my throat; swallow a dry sting. Seemingly, it isn't a good idea to sit outside at night in a damp seat. I'm sure that my body was so working on warmth that a virus just nonchalantly walked right into my system - gleaming.

While asleep, the dust of the air and the dust of my teeth formed an army of tiny sponges which, stuck to my already parched throat, absorbed every last bit of relief left in my mouth, and they themselves dried out with every new breath of my own. But then the saliva would come, and the sponge army would be replenished. It was a war. The sponge soldiers clung to my mouth with a fierce grasp, and no cough of mine - my only defense - could carry them out. They would steal my "revival of saliva"- produced by the body, for the body - that was meant for my aching throat. I woke up in anguish. I drank water. But the army stayed; revitalized.

In order to win a war, you have to know your enemy: These sponge soldiers would only hold the moisture in the top half of their pores. The bottom half they would let dry, so as to form a complete solidified bond with my throat tissue. Coughing would do nothing; cold water would only penetrate the outer regions - the sidelines - of these inner pores, and would add extra vitality to their force. I had to take it to the next level: Tea.

Hot water could perhaps deteriorate some of the dried bottom of the sponge. So I drank Tea with all my might. However, it was only a temporary relief to the dryness. It seemed that the sponges would be heavily leveled at the bottom base for a time, but it would only take a few instances of fresh air for them to rebuild their foundations of dry agony in the back of my throat. They knew too well the arsenal of the defense. I had to adjust my motions.

I went to the medicine cabinet. The sponge army smelt the full vigor of death with every capsule filled container. But they screamed at me, "Capsules take time! We will dig in with all our might until that time comes!" Threats. They threatened me. Anger exploded. I shouted back at them, but it was all grumbles. My tongue, too, was on its last legs. I frantically looked at label upon label, hoping to find one with the exact words "To Kill Sponge Soldiers" written on it. But nowhere was one to be found. Vitamins, Omega 3's, Enzymes. My time was drawing near.

But then, I saw her. The little maiden of my eye. A small, white container with a spray-top. Curious, I read the label. "Echinacea Throat Spray". The soldiers panicked. As I lifted the lid off the spray-top, they hit with all their might. I fell over in pain and anticipation. My mom watched in slow motion as I brought my hand up to my mouth, positioned the hole towards my mouth, opened my mouth so wide my dentist would have rejoiced at the sight of it, and pushed down that spray-top with the acknowledgement of the final fist towards the cowering face of the sponge army. They shrieked; they swore; they hurled insults in every direction. The stinging was almost nauseating. Clutching to life, they begged for water and I almost gave in; the taste of the spray was shamelessly horrifying. But I pressed on and smacked those fluevy's with another blow. The last of them tasted death, but not before muttering some extreme expletives. My ears were appalled, but I knew that this was the end. I, Victorious Jon. They now knew my name.