Yuck, Medicine

I watched feebly as my mothers lips summoned me to the kitchen. In my head they were screaming at me, but I knew she wasn't in real life. That's what sickness does to you, it makes you crazy. It's a shame that one of the only cures is icky, gross medicine. It comes in all sorts of types, pills, liquid, needles, and even in pastes. Pastes are the worst, they are slimy and little bits of it's residue stick in your mouth so the taste can't get out. Disgusting. Shivering, I crawled towards the kitchen with realization of what was going to happen. That paste, that disgusting paste, that I was talking about, is going to be shoved down my throat. Then I saw it. It was being held in my mothers left hand. It then began to descend. Suddenly it was in my mother, etching it's way to my stomach. I gagged, then I gagged again. It didn't stop until three spoonfuls of Nuttela had been shoved down my throat. I hate being sick.

It tastes almost as disgusting as this.
(Not quite)

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