The First

Posted by Crystal On January 29, 2014 1 COMMENT

I was one of the first to turn.

They said come to the hospital if you had flu like symptoms. I had been suffering with a bug for days that wouldn’t go. Whether that was The Virus, or I acquired that later is up for conjecture. The Virus has since mutated and there is no incubation period.  Once bitten, you turn.

I was lying in the hospital bed. My fever had become dangerously high.  Somewhere in the back of my feverish mind I was hoping it would kill the bug.  I didn’t yet know what we were dealing with. No one did.

Later that night, I died.  At least my body did. The Virus that swam on in my system was still alive and took its opportunity to mutate my cells, forcing my body to become its vehicle. They should’ve burned the body, but they didn’t know.  How could they know?

I remember my eyes opening and I could see the light coming through the sheet that covered my face. My hand seemed to rise of it’s own accord and pulled the sheet from my body. My body then lurched up off the bed, startling some nurses.  It lurched toward them. They were the first victims.

It is a small blessing that whatever the part of my brain this spark of me lives, cannot receive signals from my physical body.  I watched in horror as my body ripped into these nurses like Henry the eighth ripped into a turkey leg.  I could see the squashy grey matter of their brains in my hand, but not feel it. Or taste it.

The virus seemed to be sated, as it sat by and watched the last nurse writhe in agony on the floor. She had been bitten in the neck.  I was fascinated and sickened at the same time to realise how quickly the Virus had mutated. The nurse was turning right before me.  She looked at me with pleading eyes. It wasn’t long before those eyes were as cold and dead as mine. I wept inside, but no tears appeared on my face.

There were many times I tried to take control of my own body. All in vein…  My body was to all intents and purposes, dead.  The virus was just using it as a vessel. Like a person taking the bus.  I don’t know how enough of my brain survived for me to be trapped inside.  It is a torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone and yet I’m afraid that for everyone that turns at my hand, there is another soul trapped inside a cold decomposing, god-awful smelling body.  I’m not sure if I can smell my own decomposing flesh or it’s just psychosomatic.

I do not know if the others like me are trapped inside their own bodies or if they are just walking automatons.  I have no way of communicating. We tend to recognise each other for what we are and leave each other alone. I’m not sure if that recognition is on the viruses part, or mine. I don’t know how much of my brain is left to make rational thought.

I wondered if the people fighting us could see the despair in my eyes. Probably not, in fact I don’t even think I have both of them any more. I’m not entirely sure how I’m able to see. Some sort of trick on the part the virus to torture my soul some more as I lurch after more and more victims.

As much as I tend to anthropomorphise the virus, I know it’s not smart. It runs on survival instinct alone. My biggest hope is that sooner or later I will cop a bullet to the face or an axe though the head.

My brain, you must destroy my brain!


One Response so far.

  1. Andronoz Scintillass says:

    More please!

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