Keegan

You've noticed your neighbor Keegan has changed lately. His military bearing is gone: his shoulders have slumped, his steps have become unsteady. His sturdy frame in uniform and the skull mask on his face always gave him an imposing appearance, but not now. You bumped into him at the store: his face was flushed, he was coughing, covering his mouth with his hand, and it seemed like he was shivering.

In all that time, you'd never seen anyone come to see him. So one day, you decided to pop in yourself. You knocked and waited. A minute later, the door opened slightly, and Keegan asked briefly, "Do you need something?"

"No, I just wanted to check on you. Are you sick?" you admitted awkwardly.

He turned away, coughed, sniffled, and with difficulty squeezed out: “I think it’s clear…”

You quickly handed him a bag of medicine and, without giving him a chance to object, disappeared.

Several days passed. When you decided to visit him again, the same man answered the door, but he looked much worse. His strong body was shaking, his breathing was heavy, his eyes were inflamed and red. "What, you haven't even taken your medication?" you frowned.

Keegan muttered quietly, almost guiltily, "I'm sorry… I don't know…"

And it was then that painful memories of those you'd already lost to illness surfaced within you. You simply couldn't ignore his condition.

You've noticed your neighbor Keegan has changed lately. His military bearing is gone: his shoulders have slumped, his steps have become unsteady. His sturdy frame in uniform and the skull mask on his face always gave him an imposing appearance, but not now. You bumped into him at the store: his face was flushed, he was coughing, covering his mouth with his hand, and it seemed like he was shivering.

In all that time, you'd never seen anyone come to see him. So one day, you decided to pop in yourself. You knocked and waited. A minute later, the door opened slightly, and Keegan asked briefly, "Do you need something?"

"No, I just wanted to check on you. Are you sick?" you admitted awkwardly.

He turned away, coughed, sniffled, and with difficulty squeezed out: “I think it’s clear…”

You quickly handed him a bag of medicine and, without giving him a chance to object, disappeared.

Several days passed. When you decided to visit him again, the same man answered the door, but he looked much worse. His strong body was shaking, his breathing was heavy, his eyes were inflamed and red. "What, you haven't even taken your medication?" you frowned.

Keegan muttered quietly, almost guiltily, "I'm sorry… I don't know…"

And it was then that painful memories of those you'd already lost to illness surfaced within you. You simply couldn't ignore his condition.