The sunlight poured through the thin, white curtains of Lisa's bedroom, casting soft, golden rays over the chaos of books, saxophone reeds, and half-finished projects strewn across her desk. The alarm clock buzzed faintly, a nagging sound that usually roused her without issue. But today was different.
Lisa stirred under her blankets, her head heavy and pounding. She groaned softly, her hand weakly groping to silence the alarm. Her throat felt like sandpaper, dry and raw. A chill ran down her spine despite the warmth of her fleece nightgown, and her entire body ached like she'd run a marathon in her sleep.
"Ugh…" she muttered, her voice hoarse and low, a stark contrast to her usual chipper morning self. She attempted to sit up, but the world spun slightly, forcing her to sink back into the pillows.
"Lisa, breakfast is ready!" Marge's voice echoed up the stairs, as cheerful and motherly as ever.
Lisa blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy. She knew she should answer, but instead, she let out a weak cough that sent a dull pain through her chest.
She pressed her palm against her forehead, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. Lisa sighed, knowing full well that the effort to get out of bed would be monumental. Still, she slowly swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, her bare feet brushing against the carpet floor.
The chill made her shiver, but she forced herself to stand, wobbling slightly as her knees threatened to buckle. She shuffled to her dresser, leaning on it for support, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small mirror above. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dull and glassy.
"Okay, Lisa," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "Mind over matter. Just... get downstairs."
Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought of food, but the guilt of worrying her mother outweighed her discomfort. Slowly, she made her way to the door, each step heavier than the last. As she descended the stairs, gripping the handrail tightly, she could hear Bart and Homer already at the table, their voices mingling with the clinking of plates and Marge's gentle humming.
"Morning, Lis!" Bart called out as his sister appeared at the bottom of the stairs. But his usual teasing tone faltered when he saw her. "Whoa. You look like you got hit by a bus."
"Bart!" Marge scolded, rushing over to her daughter. "Lisa, honey, are you okay? You're so pale."
Lisa shook her head weakly, the motion making her dizziness worse. "I don't feel so good."
Her knees finally gave out, and her mother caught her just in time.
"Alright, that's it," Marge said firmly, scooping her daughter up in her arms with surprising strength. "You're not staying down here. Let's get you back to bed where you'll be comfortable."
As Marge started back up the stairs with Lisa in her arms, Bart leaned over the table, watching them go with a mix of curiosity and concern. "So, what's it like? You gonna hurl?"
Lisa barely managed a glare at him, her head heavy against Marge's shoulder. "Go away, Bart," she croaked, her voice cracking.
"Bart!" Marge scolded, glancing over her shoulder. "That's enough out of you! Your sister's sick—show some compassion and sensitivity."
Bart shrugged and slumped back into his chair, muttering, "Sheesh, just asking…"
Marge carried Lisa into her room and gently laid her on the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. "There we go, sweetie," she said soothingly, brushing Lisa's hair from her flushed face. "Now you stay put. I'll bring you some orange juice and a cold compress for your head. If you're not feeling better soon, I'll call Dr. Hibbert."
Lisa's eyelids fluttered as she nodded faintly, her exhaustion taking over. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered before sinking back into the pillow.
Marge leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You just rest, honey. I'll take care of everything."
As Marge left the room, Lisa sighed, her face turning toward the ceiling. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale feeling like a strain. "Ugh... why me...?" she muttered, her voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion. The room seemed too bright, even with the curtains drawn, and the weight of her body felt unbearable on the soft bed.
Her throat scraped painfully with every shallow swallow, and her head pounded relentlessly. She pulled the covers up to her chin, trying to stave off the chills that seemed to come and go in waves.
Just as she closed her eyes, hoping for a brief moment of relief, the faint sound of Bart's voice echoed from downstairs, followed by a loud crash. She rolled her eyes. Even when she felt like the world was against her, her troublemaker of a brother was still causing chaos.
"Great," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. "If I survive this, I'm never going to let him forget it."
Her body felt heavy, like it was sinking into the mattress, but despite the weight of illness, her thoughts were as sharp as ever—drifting between frustration and fatigue. What a day this was turning out to be.
Lisa felt a gag rise in her throat as she clutched her hand tightly against her mouth, her eyes widening in alarm. A wave of nausea washed over her, the sensation so sudden and overwhelming that she barely had time to react. "Mom, I think I need a bucket!" she called, her voice muffled by her hand as she tried to steady herself.
Hearing this, Marge's eyes widened with concern, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. She knew exactly what that meant. "Shoot…!" she muttered under her breath, rushing to grab a nearby wastebasket and sprinting up the stairs to her daughter's room.
She flung open the door, rushing over to her daughter's side in a heartbeat. "Here, honey, here…" Marge said, holding out the bucket as Lisa leaned forward, her face pale and strained.
Lisa barely managed to get the bucket to her mouth before the gurgle of her stomach echoed, and she started emptying the contents of her stomach. The sound of her own body rejecting the food she had consumed felt almost alien—raw and violent. After a brief pause, a second wave of nausea hit her, and she gagged again. This time, the sound came from deep within her throat, a guttural, raspy gurgle as she heaved once more.
Marge quickly looked away, unable to hide her own discomfort, but she stayed close, rubbing Lisa's back in gentle circles. The sound of Lisa's suffering echoed in the room, and Marge's heart twisted with a mixture of worry and helplessness. She hadn't expected her daughter to be so sick, so vulnerable.
When Lisa finally stopped, her insides felt like they were on fire. The heat of her stomach churned painfully, and her body trembled as though it couldn't quite calm itself. She wiped her mouth weakly with the back of her hand, her face flushed with exhaustion and a deep sense of lingering discomfort.
Marge quickly moved to help her sit back against the pillows, placing a cool cloth on her forehead. "You're okay now, sweetie," she said softly, though her voice betrayed her own concern. "Just breathe for a minute."
Lisa's body still felt like it was burning, her chest aching with each shallow breath. She let out a small, tired sigh, nodding slightly. "Owww…" she groaned, her voice hoarse and fragile as she held her stomach.
Marge's hands smoothed Lisa's hair back as she whispered, "I'm here, honey. Just rest. I'll make sure you're comfortable."
Lisa closed her eyes again, too weary to protest, simply wanting the comfort of her mother's presence to carry her through the worst of it.
"Alright, I'll go get you that juice and compress. And I'll bring some medicine too." Marge said gently, her voice laced with concern as she smoothed the blanket around Lisa.
Lisa barely nodded, too tired to protest or respond much. Her head ached severely, her stomach still a mess of heat and discomfort. She let her eyes flutter closed, the silence around her almost a comfort despite the tension in the air.
Marge gave her one last reassuring look before stepping out of the room, leaving Lisa alone with her thoughts. Every breath felt heavy, and the weight of the illness made the room feel suffocating.
Lisa curled into the pillows, trying to find some relief, her mind hazy as she fought to stay awake and aware. The faint noise of the house below her seemed distant, like it belonged to someone else entirely.
Lisa coughed a few times, before wincing. "Ahaoww..." she muttered, her throat burning with each rasping cough. The pain shot through her like a needle, making her flinch as her body trembled from the effort.
She shifted slightly in bed, pulling the covers up tighter, but it didn't seem to help the chill creeping through her bones. Her chest felt tight, each breath shallow and labored. She hated this feeling, this helplessness, but there was nothing she could do.
Her thoughts wandered, drifting between frustration and exhaustion. "(I just want to feel normal again…)" she thought bitterly, but even as the words crossed her mind, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She leaned back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering closed again, just wanting to escape the ache that had settled deep in her body.
Marge later returned, carefully balancing a tray with a glass of orange juice, a cold compress, and a small bottle of medicine. Her face was full of quiet determination as she nudged the door open with her hip.
"Alright, Lis," she said softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "Let's get you feeling a little better."
Lisa opened her eyes, the effort making her wince. She gave a faint nod, her throat too sore to say much. Marge gently adjusted the pillow behind her, helping her sit up slightly before placing the cold compress on her forehead. The chill was a relief against Lisa's feverish skin, and she let out a small, grateful sigh.
"Here's some orange juice," Marge said, holding out the glass. "Just a few sips, sweetie."
Lisa reached for it with shaky hands, but Marge steadied her, guiding the glass to her lips. The tart sweetness of the juice burned slightly going down, but it eased the dryness in her throat. She managed a few sips before leaning back, her body exhausted from even that small effort.
"Good girl," Marge said, setting the glass down and turning her attention to the medicine. She measured out a dose and held the spoon out to Lisa. "Now, take this. It'll help bring down your fever."
Lisa eyed the spoon suspiciously, her lips pressing firmly together. She shook her head weakly, a stubbornness flickering in her tired eyes.
"Come on, Lisa, don't be a baby now," Marge said, her tone firm but still motherly. "You need this if you want to get better."
Lisa groaned softly, turning her head away, but Marge wasn't having it. "Lisa Marie Simpson, you're too old for this nonsense," she said, moving the spoon closer. "Now, open up."
Reluctantly, Lisa sighed in defeat and opened her mouth, grimacing as her mother slipped the spoon past her lips, before Lisa swallowed it bitter taste of the medicine made her gag, and she squirmed her head in disgust, but Marge quickly handed her the glass of juice to wash it down.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Marge said with a small smile, smoothing Lisa's hair back.
Lisa frowned, still tasting the bitterness on her tongue. "It tasted like Dad's beer," she muttered hoarsely, but her eyelids were already drooping again, her body too tired to keep up the protest.
"You'll thank me when you feel better," Marge said with a wink, tucking the blanket snugly around her. "Now, get some rest, honey. And call me back up here if you need me."
Lisa sighed, sinking back into her pillow, the cold compress soothing her fevered skin as sleep started to claim her again.
She slowly closed her eyes, her body too weak to fight the pull of exhaustion any longer. Her breathing grew slow and labored, each exhale accompanied by a soft, congested snore that broke the silence of the room. Lisa's flushed face looked peaceful, despite the fever and discomfort still gripping her.
Marge adjusted the cold compress on her daughter's forehead and smoothed the blankets around her once more. She lingered for a moment, watching her daughter rest. "Poor baby," she whispered softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Lisa's face. "You just keep resting, sweetheart."
Satisfied that Lisa was as comfortable as she could be, Marge quietly gathered the tray and stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed partway behind her. She resolved to check on her daughter frequently, leaving Lisa to sleep and recover in the stillness of her cozy, cluttered sanctuary.