Thanks to my beloved writer, five doctors took me in and rushed me to intensive care. They asked me some important questions, such as the last time that I slept and foods that I had been eating lately, as they hooked me up to a heart monitor and checked me out.

One of the doctors had the nerve to ask me if I had seen myself in a mirror. I know that he was unaware that I did so, but like I want to be reminded of my hideous features.

"Hmm. This is a peculiar case of the measles," a doctor guessed.

"Unless this boy has parents who are against vaccines, I am sure that it is not measles. More likely cancer," another doctor suggested.

"It is not cancer," a female doctor argued. "Cancer is difficult to detect without proper equipment. Plus, last time that I checked, any form of cancer does not involve purple and black veins."

Soon, I had that sick feeling. You know. When your brain warns you that your stomach will be erupting with digested food. I hate that!

Except in my case, I did not puke up food. It was far worse.

"Caleb, what could be worse than digested food? Phlegm?," you ask?

Nope. How about a mix of purple and black mix?

I put my palms over my mouth and kept my lips together as best as I could. I clenched my teeth in the process and breathed hard through my nose.

"What is wrong, young man?" the fourth doctor asked me. "You do not look good."

"Of course, he does not look good!" the fifth doctor who was another female stated the obvious. "His fingertips are as cold as ice, and there are black and purple cracks visible on his cheeks!"

No longer could I hold it in. I wanted to, but my body was weak.

I leaned over the table that I was sitting on and puked up a mix of black and purple liquid, and like with normal throw ups, my stomach ached.

"Oh my gosh!" the female doctors screamed.

I held my stomach and coughed as drops of purple and back liquid fell from my lips.

"I-I...am sorry..." I apologized in between coughs.

The doctors were concerned of my health - as doctors should - and gave me a room that was close to the intensive care. They laid me on a hospital bed and wheeled me to Room 13.

How unlucky of me.

They kept me on the heart monitor and hooked me up to another machine that would give me water through my veins and hopefully flush out my system.

All the doctors exited, and another doctor entered the room a few minutes later with a clipboard and pen. I recognized him to be Dr. O'Fallon.

"Dr. O-O'Fallon," I stammered. I sat up and coughed hard.

"Goodness, Caleb," he said. "You look as if your energy was sucked out of you."

I slowly nodded. "Dr. O'Fallon...I...I am sure that whatever is happening to me...is not normal."

"Of course, it is not normal. That is why you have been admitted to the hospital."

"No. What I mean is that...I do not have a known disease. It is neither cancer nor Alzheimer's."

"Caleb, Caleb. I know all about it."

I blinked and laid my body back down. "You do?"

"Well, I know nothing about your disease."

My face saddened.

"But what I do know is what the other doctors told me, including the incident where you threw up."

I brought up the hospital covers to my chin. "It was not a normal throw up."

"That is exactly what they said. You puked out..." He took a quick glance at his notes on his clipboard. "...purple and black liquid?"

"Yes, sir. As crazy as it sounds, I did."

"Do you have the urge to throw up again?"

"No. Not now."

Dr. O'Fallon walked to the other side of the room and picked up an empty bucket. He brought it to me and set it by my bed.

"The next time that you puke, do it in this bucket." He pointed at it. "After you are done, press the red button on the wall. It will signal a nurse, and the nurse will get me to come back here, okay?"

"Okay..."

"I will then take the bucket from you and run tests on the strange liquid and hopefully find an answer to your problem."

"I pray that you do, sir. I pray that I am curable."

"Question. Do you have any family or friends that would like to see you?"

"Absolutely. Let us see....my girlfriend Cindy, my sister, Joan, my two cousins named Collin and Cameron, and my son, Cal. And since that Tamara calls me her daddy and Mary Sue likes me, I guess that they can come too."

He was writing what I was saying on his notes. "What about your parents?"

"Not them."

"But they are your parents."

"You said family or friends that would like to see me. My parents have been avoiding me right after they abandoned me for death."

"Wow. I am terribly sorry to hear that. I will bring in the characters that you named in a minute." With that, he said goodbye and went on his merry way.

I rolled onto my side and sniffed. Black and purple liquid spewed from my nose.

"I hope that Cindy will not see me as a freak," I said. "She still loved me even after I transformed her and Joan into statues...right?"

I teared up, and yes, even the tears were purple and black.

"What about Tamara and Cal? They are just kids. Will they still love me even after all the trouble that I caused?" I buried my face in the pillow. "Mr. and Mrs. Banks were right all along. I am a problem child."

Soon, the door to my room opened. A reoccurring character stepped inside.