text: Hank decided that he really didn't know what was going on. He felt horrible. His head hurt. His body hurt and it didn't even look like his body. So he had to try something, he couldn't just sit there. He decided that he'd go ask a doctor and hoped that there would be some way they would have some kind of miracle cure for him. He really didn't think they would, but he didn't see any other options at this point.
  
  He stood back up from the bed and put his hand out to the wall to keep his balance. He headed over to the pile of clothes in the corner to put some on. He noticed as he moved, that once again the bed was a disaster area. It looked like he had really had a good time with someone last night. He smiled when he thought about sharing the bed with Sasha. He looked down and realized nothing else had happened when he thought of her, though. He carefully put on a tee shirt and some jeans. Neither one fit his new, emaciated body. The tee shirt looked like it was four sizes too big. He had enough room for two fists inside the waistband of his jeans. He grabbed an old charging wire to use as a belt and tried to tie it around. The slick insulation of the wire didn't really tighten well and when he let go, his pants fell down. He bent down and pulled them up again and realized he was going to have to hold them. Maybe this was why old people had belts.
  
  Holding his pants up with one hand, he shuffled towards the door of the bedroom. He stepped into his slides and kept walking. He realized by the time he reached the front door to his apartment that he was already breathing hard. Apparently he was also quite out of shape now. This was going to be a long trip to the doctor. He picked up his wallet and idly wondered how he would explain his ID picture.
  
  Hank made his way out the door and to the stairs to the first floor. He usually took the stairs two at a time, but this time he not only used each step, he could do little more than step one foot onto a step, then bring the other foot down to the level with the first. When he reached the landing between floors, he stopped to try and catch his breath. He thought that he should be sweating, but he figured he was probably still dehydrated. It didn't help that his head was still pounding despite everything else that was going on with him right now.
  
  He worked his was down to the entrace of the apartment and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The bright sunshine felt like daggers in his eyes. He put his wrinkled hand up to block the sun and squinted. He probably should have brought a hat for this trip, but he wasn't in the mood to try and make it all the way back up all those stairs to the second floor. Instead, he started walking, one step at a time, towards the urgent care center once again.
  
  It was so tiring, just walking, at this point. It really didn't make any sense. While he walked, he looked at his hands again and the wrinkles all over them. He pushed the door open to the urgent care center and stopped to try and catch his breath. He actually went over to a seat before he walked up to the counter. The receptionist gave him a nervous glance and said, "Do you need me to call an ambulance for you? We can't handle emergencies here."
  
  Hank feebly waved his hand at her and took a breath. He said, "No, just a regular visit. I'm a little tired, that's all."
  
  She brought forms and a clipboard out to him. He started to say that he had already filled them out, but he figured she wouldn't believe him. Heck, he didn't believe this. He worked his way through the form and when he reached the part asking for the purpose of his visit today he stopped and thought. After a little bit he wrote, "Shortness of breath." Then he handed the forms in to the receptionist.
  
  When she read them she asked him again, "Shortness of breath? Are you sure you don't want me to call an ambulance? There's not a lot our doctors can do for emergency situations."
  
  He replied, "No, it's okay, it's not that serious, I'll wait."
  
  Indeed he did have to wait and he was eventually shown into a small treatment room. The nurse took his vitals and said that the doctor would see him soon. He sat and waited.
  
  When the doctor entered the room, he was looking at the clipboard with the information and said, "This name looks familiar, weren't you just in here..." He stopped when he looked up and saw the old man seated in front of him. He mumbled, "Sorry, I must have been confused. I thought I recognized that name."
  
  Hank said, "Yeah, you did. That's me."
  
  The doctor looked confused.
  
  Hank said, "Check out the birth date there. It's me."
  
  The doctor flipped up a page and his eyes grew wide. He shook his head and said, "No, this can't be right."
  
  Hank said, "I know. I was in here yesterday looking pretty fit, despite the few, uh, diseases there, and when I woke up this morning, I looked like this. How does that happen doc?"
  
  The doctor moved in and looked into Hank's eyes. He felt his arms. He listened to his heart beat. He asked Hank to take a few deep breaths as he checked out his lungs. He pulled out the needle and equipment and told Hank that he needed to take another blood sample. When he was done, he packaged that up and placed it in a container. He took a deep breath and faced Hank. He said, "This, obviously, is quite disturbing. No, I don't mean you've done anything wrong, it just, well, it appears to be some sort of chronic wasting disease. But it normally doesn't come on this fast. I'll have to send these samples over to the lab to confirm things, but it looks like quite an advanced case. There's not a lot of cures for this sort of thing, but there are things we can do to make you more comfortable and to combat some of the worst effects of the disease. But to be completely honest, you really need to be in a hospital. We can call you an ambulance if you like, but I'm strongly suggesting that you get yourself admitted right now. I can certainly send over my recomendations and that will be sure to speed things along. I can't force you to go, but you're really going to be miserable if you don't go and this could continue progressing quite rapidly if it is what I think it is. You may want to think about this a minute, but I really can't be stronger with my suggestion that you go to the hospital directly from here."
  
  As Hank was trying to process what the doctor was telling him, his phone buzzed. Ignoring the doctor for the moment, he pulled it out and saw he had a text from an unknown number. He checked the message and it was simply a smiley face. It had to be Sasha. The doctor interrupted his thoughts with, "I'll give you a moment to consider your options, but please let us call you an ambulance and get you to the hospital. It really is the best thing you can do."
  
  With that, the doctor stepped out the door, leaving Hank alone with his thoughts. He should have asked the doctor if he was going to die. The doctor seemed to imply that, and if that was the case, he really should head to the hospital. He glanced at his phone and the smiley from Sasha. He wondered what she could possibly have to do with this. He felt tired. He felt exhausted. And he was half the man he was yesterday.
  
  > Hank just goes home for a quick nap while he considers his options.
  Hank lay back on his bed, exhausted. He tried one more time to force his brain to remember what happened last night. It was all still just completely blank. He really didn't understand how it could be so completely and utterly blank. He rolled over a little and when the sheets shifted, the smell of sex assaulted his nose. He smiled at the thoughts of what last night must have been like. He wanted to remember so bad, but it just wasn't going to happen.
  
  Hank lay back and put his head on the pillow. He held his arm up and looked at his hand again. It was just so wrinkled. He wasn't sure he'd even seen a hand quite like that before. Sure, he'd seen the hands of old people before, but he never really looked at them this close. There was that saying about knowing something like the back of your hand, but this was a hand that didn't make any sense to him. This wasn't his hand. Why was it attached to his body?
  
  Hank listened to the sound of the air going in and out of his lungs. It sounded like a breeze waving crinkled paper around. He looked down and saw the white hairs on his chest. Those couldn't belong to him. He swung his feet out and got out of bed one more time. He headed into the bathroom and stared into the mirror again.
  
  The body and face that stared back at him just were not his. Nothing about this was possible in any way. He didn't care what the doctor might have said, there had to be some answer to what was going on. He really wanted this to be some kind of practical joke, but it was too much: there was no way someone could set this much up for him. He raised his hand and watched the old man in the mirror do the same thing. He reached out and touched the mirror. Somehow that was really him in the mirror. He headed out of the room and towards the kitchen. He realized that he was getting cold.
  
  He went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. His head was still pounding, but he hoped a little more alcohol wouldn't make things worse. His fingers hurt when he tried to open the can. He ended up picking up a fork and using that for leverage to open the lid. How pitiful was he that he couldn't even open a can of beer any more? How old did you have to be before you couldn't do something that simple? He lifted the can and slammed it down. It took a lot of effort and quite a bit of swallowing before he managed to get it down. Some beer dribbled down his face, but he was beyond caring. As soon as the first one was gone, he reached into the fridge for a second.
  
  He was glad there was already beer there, at this point he couldn't even imagine having to go out again. Heck, he wondered if his frail body could handle carrying a case of beer. He supposed he'd have to start buying six-packs or maybe even having food delivered to him. Of course, he couldn't really afford all that, but who knows what else was going to change in his life. The thought of money brought thoughts of going to work tomorrow: how in the world was that going to go over? There's no way anyone at work was going to recognize him. He'd probably be fired and maybe arrested for trespassing. This was insane. His world was gone, and it didn't seem like there was anything he was ever going to be able to do about it. Using the fork he opened another beer and chugged that one as well.
  
  He thought that maybe the beer was helping, at least a little bit, with his headache. Maybe he could sleep now. Actually, he hoped that if he went to sleep that he would wake up and it would turn out that all this was just a dream. He tossed the empty beer can on the ground and grabbed one more for the road. He made sure to take the fork with him as he shuffled towards his bedroom. He paused at the doorway to catch his breath. Was he getting shorter? He stuck his head into the bathroom to take a look one more time. It did look like he was a little more bent over. His face looked even more gaunt. Was he getting worse? Was he getting even older? He sat down on the bed with his beer and fork and decided that he just didn't care any more.
  
  He cracked open the beer and tossed the fork on the floor. He tiled up the beer and started drinking. The beer poured down his throat and he tiled backwards to get more beer. He leaned, and then started to fall backwards. He kept sucking on the beer can as he hit the bed lightly. He closed his eyes and let the empty beer can fall from his fingers. He let the darkness envelop him as he lay there getting older.
  
  Well, good reader, congratulations, you managed to get killed by the succubus. Feel free to try again and see where else Hank might end up! Thank you for reading.