Sunlight from the window at the foot of his bed gently warmed his cold, sweat-soaked sheets. His heavy eyes watched the dust particles as they danced in beams of light. Morning had arrived; his bedroom was filled with a bright amber glow.

Am I/are you feeling better? he asked himself.

“Yes/no,” he answered.

Great!/Great.

They slowly stepped out of bed, one foot following the other; following the other, dragging himself out the door and down the hall.

Debby sat at the edge of the stairs unaffected by Isaiahs’ monotonous groaning. She was too busy playing to notice her older brothers stammering into the bathroom. Besides, “Dolly” had better things to say.

“Looks like Zay is feeling better, Dolly”

“Really? You think so? I don’t know?” The doll bobbled back and forth in her hands.

“Yeah, I think the medicine mommy gave him worked!”’

Isaiahs closed the door.

They stood in silence, staring at themselves in the mirror. It was a paradox of perplexing proportions: four of them and only one toothbrush.