I rubbed my eyes while sitting in the chair, wondering if the buzz of information flowing through my body was a hallucination from being half-sleep. We were in the office so that Mom could take me home.

The secretary she was talking to was wearing red circular glasses with a sleek teal suit that complimented her olive-toned skin. "Sign here, please," the woman instructed, nearly putting me to sleep with her dull, droning voice.

A pen angrily scratching against a slip of paper instead caught my attention. Its strokes somehow calmed me, shoving my anxiety away and letting a sense of tranquility seep under my skin. Still, what was that? Why did all of those numbers and voices and images suddenly appear in my head?

I wasn't able to follow all of what was scattered in my brain, except for the fact that they were all related to math. Specifically, the y-intercept equation. This isn't making sense. All of this nonsensical knowledge gave me a headache that I didn't need. Was that an illusion? Was someone doing a magic trick? Is today April Fool's Day?

"Ziv? You sleep?" Mom's hand landed on my shoulder, gently bringing me to reality.

"I'm fine, fine. Just trying to remember what happened when I passed out."

Mom gave a smile that mirrored my confusion. "Well, I'm not sure, Sweetie. But don't worry too much about it. The nurse said that you were dehydrated, so you're going to rest today, okay?"

It was then that I noticed the pen stopped moving. Reluctantly, I nodded. This has to be a dream. "Okay."

On the way home, Mom interrogated me. "Did you drink enough water? Are you feeling sick? Should I take you to the hospital?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. I'm just a little hungry."

"Ah, well I'll make some saganaki for you."

Somehow, I had the feeling that the appetizer wouldn't fill me. "Can you make some dolmadakia instead?"

"Sure, I just hope that we have some grape leaves left."

I laughed at the memory of Dad praising Mom for her culinary skills while proceeding to stuff a dolmades down his throat. Yet, the thought of food didn't make me feel as excited as it did before. How odd.

Once we reached our house at the end of the street, we got out the car and headed to the sidewalk. The winter breeze nipping at my ears caused a shiver to crawl down my spine when Mom pulled out the key and ushered me inside.

A sigh of relief left my parted lips at the entrance that encased me in warmth.

"The food'll be ready soon," she chimed after throwing her peacoat on the couch. "If I don't have enough ingredients then I'll go to the store real quick. So sit tight, okay? Mama'll take good care of you."

I tilted my head with furrowed eyebrows. "But what about work?" It was nice of her to take care of me, but I didn't want her to get fired.

She waved her hand to push away my worries. "They let me leave early since it was an emergency. I'll just have to work a bit more next week," she concluded with a tired smile before turning to me. "Now go brush your teeth."

I nodded. "Okay." I'm starting to think that this is all too real. It's too... vivid to be a dream.

When Mom headed to the kitchen I went upstairs. Why would I hallucinate, though? I looked at my bloated stomach in confusion. I'm not even hungry, but I don't remember eating breakfast this morning.

"Maybe this is a symptom of a disease or something," I muttered while opening the door to the bathroom. I flicked the light on with an aggrevated sigh. Or maybe I was going crazy.

I was about to grab the toothbrush when I noticed something move in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to it and covered my mouth to stop from screaming at the sight of my reflection. My throat dried up as sweat beads clung to the back of my neck. I didn't utter a word, only staring at what stared back at me.

Jumbles of words and symbols were dancing above me. I stumbled backwards, throwing anything I could find at the mirror to make the words disappear. Yet no matter how many tissue rolls or towels I threw at it, the words never reacted. Only then did I notice that the words weren't just in the mirror. I looked up to see them floating under the artificial light. What is this?

"Ziv? What's wrong?" Mom's voice pulled me out of my state of shock. "Are you okay?" she asked again, the sound of her slow footsteps growing closer.

Oh no, if she saw these things, what would she do? I scrambled to open the door and yelled, "Yeah! I just knocked over some stuff."

Her footsteps stopped. "Oh. All right, just make sure you clean up in there!"

I nodded even though she couldn't see it. "Uh huh."

A moment of silence walked between us until she said, "Well, I need to go to the store for olive oil. Call me if you feel sick, okay? I'll be right back."

I had my hand tightly gripping onto the door knob, trying to keep my words in. "Don't worry, I will." Did this count as me feeling sick?

I sighed just as I heard the front door close. My eyes wandered behind me, wary of what they would see. Of course, the words were still there. However, they didn't seem to have bad intentions. They simply swayed in front of me, as if waiting for me to do something. But what?

"Hello?" I leaned against the door and slid up, waving at them. "Can you hear me? Do you speak English?" Words should be able to talk, right? I tried to recall the language Mom taught me when I was younger, sifting through my childhood memories. "Um, μιλάτε ελληνικά ;" Do you speak Greek?

Unfortunately, there was no response. The words only continued to swirl against the wind in their own rhythm.

"Ugh, what am I doing..." I muttered, resting my head in my hand. Wait, I only became full after I ate the equation. Does that mean that I can eat these things? There were too many questions and not enough answers.

Deciding to instead focus on the task at hand, I brushed my teeth. The questions still lingered on my mind, but I didn't want to worry about them right now.

"Back!" I heard after finishing up in the bathroom. Mom entered the living room with bags of food. She smiled when saw me on the couch. "I ended up buying a little more than I should've."

I chuckled. "The more the merrier, right?"

"That's right! Now, those dolmadakia need to first be..." she trailed off before disappearing into the kitchen.

I looked up and frowned. So she can't see them either, huh? It seemed like my words were invisible to her, which further backed my claim. I was hallucinating. Even though that sounded logical, it didn't explain why no one else could see my handwriting.

I reached up to brush my fingers against one of the black, gaseous words. Surprisingly, it wrapped around my finger, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake until it rested in my palm. I brought my hand to my face to see which one I picked out.

Migraines.

Why did I write this? Ah, science class. The teacher used it as an example for viruses. I hesitantly poked the word with my other hand's index finger, causing it to jump back before crawling up my skin. A giggle erupted from me when its movements began to tickle.

"Ziva?" Whoops.

"Oh, I was just laughing at some... birds outside! They were fighting over nuts."

"Birds are so cute," she commented.

"Sure are."

I spent the remainder of the hour listening to the bangs and clashes that echoed from the kitchen while picking at my words.

Mom popped into the living room. "Food's done. You ready to eat now?"

I slid off the leather couch and sweeped my hands down my jeans then tottered to the dining room.
"Yes."

"All right. It's been awhile since I've made this― hopefully it's good."

I pulled out a nearby chair and sat down. "I remember you making it before and it tasted fine."

Mom laughed while setting down the saucers. "Dear, that was eight years ago."

I looked at the steaming plate of stuffed grape leaf wraps and breathed in the savory smell. "Well, it was still good."

Before I could pick up one of the wraps, my words moved in front of me. Each one was rapidly changing to capital letters, distracting me from my meal. What did they want?

I brushed them off of my food and picked up the dolmades. Once the delectable flavor that had a hint of citris hit my taste buds, I chewed it thoughtfully, wondering how I could've ever forgotten the heavenly dish.

However, my stomach disagreed with my cravings and immediately grumbled in distaste. It twisted and turned, tying my gut in knots until I was forced to excuse myself. "Sorry, I feel a bit sick," I croaked prior to pushing myself out of the seat and running to the bathroom with acidic bile burning the back of my throat.

Running up the stairs and stumbling into the bathroom, my ears were muffled as I regurgitated the green substance. Chunks of vegetables and starchs splattered onto the bare toilet seat, leaving the bathroom with a poignant stench to fill my nostrils. I heaved when my stomach contracted.

"Ziva?" Mom yelled, stomping up the steps with a trembling voice. "What's wrong?" She burst in and gasped at the sight of me bending over the seat. Her hand landed on my back, caressing it in a way that only a mother could.

My throat was burning; words refused to come out. I glanced at her with watery eyes before sinking to my knees and retching again until only a clear liquid dripped from my lips. The bitter taste of vomit that coated my mouth made me grimance. I almost wiped my face with my hands, but Mom stopped me.

"Hold on." She gripped my shaking wrists with one hand and pulled bulks of tissue off the toliet paper roll with the other. After wrapping it around her hand she wiped my lips, the toilet seat, and the floor before discarding the tissue. "Hey," she started after cleaning me up, "You okay?"

I rubbed my neck, uncomfortable with how dry it felt on the inside. "My throat hurts, but I feel better."

She helped me up and ruffled my hair. "I'll get some water. Do you need help brushing your teeth?"

I gave her a weak laugh. "No, thank you." There was one thing that bothered me. If I threw up what I ate, why didn't the equation come out? Is that why the words tried to stop me from eating? Maybe someone else had the same problem. I need to look research this.

After cleaning my mouth out and taking sips of water, I reassured Mom that I was fine. "I guess I ate too much school food," I lied, knowing full well that wasn't the case. My hand was anxiously twisting the doorknob that led to my room as my words loomed above me. If this really works, then what? Would I live the rest of my life eating my words?

"Are you sure? You're usually careful about how much you eat. None of it was expired, right?" Her head rested in her palm while she stared at the ceiling with a frown.

"The food was safe, I swear. I guess I just bit off more than I could chew."

"Hm, all right. Just be careful next time, okay? For now, don't eat anything solid. Just stick with water. Also, keep your door cracked in case you need me."

I nodded and cracked open to door. "Okay. I will."

She smiled and turned to the stairway. "Love you."

"Love you too." With that, I entered my room and looked at word in my palm. I have to eat this? By now the words were calm, shrinking to their normal size. The migraines still brushed against my skin and spiraled up my arm with haste. As if on instinct, I opened my mouth, allowing it to enter. Somehow, I knew it wouldn't hurt me.

My mind was suddenly overflowing with images and sounds that I didn't recognize. The medications that treated the pain as well as their chemical make-up, and the causes of intense headache were all connecting in my small mind like a puzzle. I didn't know where this information was coming from, yet I was strangely intrigued. I wanted to engrave it into my memory.

When the constant waves of knowledge ceased, I headed to my laptop. There had to be someone who experienced this odd phenomenon. I turned it on and opened the browser, hoping to find something remotely helpful.

Alas, it was useless. I spent the rest of the day looking for articles with people who had similar symptoms, but nothing other than the idiom came to Google's mind. Nonetheless, I was determined to find something, anything that could explain why or how this was happening to me. Good thing it was Friday.