I got dizzy last night. Felt as though I’d fall down, right to the floor then stay there spinning as someone threw knives just a little too close to my ears.

“What’s wrong?” Y asks.

I shake my head, the leaves painted along the wall behind her start crawling upwards, over themselves.

“Just a little dizzy,” I say, closing my eyes.

She comes and sits on the floor in front of me, holds my hand.

“It’s probably the weather,” she says. I nod, standing. I walk to the kitchen for some tea. N comes in.

“Do you want some tea?” I ask.

He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just feel dizzy.”

The worrying starts at the tip of his nose. It gets in his mouth and eyes. He walks off without saying a word. I go back into the bedroom. It is at a different angle than it had been a few minutes before. I try not to spill my tea, finding my way into the bed. I close my eyes. Y crawls in next to me.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I nod. Something sits down on the end of the bed. I open my eyes. N is there with his computer.

“So, you’re dizzy? Like, how?”

“Dizzy. Like–I don’t know, dizzy. Like–like time has turned to mud and everything is sort of sloshing about.”

N nods, clicking away on his laptop. “They don’t have ‘time-turned-to-mud’ as a reason for dizziness.”

I feel a bit like vomiting. “Well, doctors should be more creative, then.”

He doesn’t respond. I sigh. “Fine, it feels like I am about to vomit without actually having to vomit, how is that?”

He asks Y something in Russian, too fast for me to catch. I glare at them.

“Speak in English dammit.”

They don’t.

“Is there anything else? Did you do anything or take anything?” N asks.

I shake my head.


He clicks away some more, talking to Y in Russian.

“Okay,” he says finally, “it seems like this is something that happens to old people.”

“I’m not old!” I snap.

He shrugs. “Or pregnant people.”

“Well, I must be pregnant, then.”

Y pats my arm.

“You’re not pregnant,” she says.

“Well I’m not damn old either!”

N reads some more. “It says it happens to old people a lot.”

“I’m just dizzy, it’s fine.”

“Or old,” N mutters.

Y moves closer, “or pregnant,” she says, comfortingly.

I close my eyes and turn my face into the pillow.

“Do you need an ambulance?” N asks.

“Hell no, I’ll be fine.”

Y says something in Russian. I can only catch a few words–I make a promise to myself that if I do not succumb to death-by-dizziness, I’ll learn Russian better.

They go back and forth. I can tell they are worried.

“Don’t you call an ambulance,” I warn.

I turn back. The worry has spread from N’s nose onto Y’s face. I roll my eyes–or maybe the room simply rolls, I can’t tell. “I’m just–” I grit my teeth, “old.”

N pats my foot, closing his laptop. “Or pregnant,” he consoles.


**If you’d like to support our project further and get access to some extra content, please check out our page on PATREON

Author Benjamin Davis and artist Nikita Klimov created one story and one picture each day for one year. In May 2018 they published their first book, The King of FU

17 Comment on “A Dizzy, Old, Pregnant Baby

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