Scrap of paperMature

Word Count: 633


I can feel that disease in my veins. I’m going to die in a hospital for the sake of a few thousand bucks. They’ve been saying all week that they’re working on a cure, but I’ve seen more than a few people leave the wards and never come back. Here in Canada, the situation’s pretty dire. The disease came straight across the border before we even knew what was going on. The government approved human experimentation as soon as they realized how bad it was, but I don’t think they did it soon enough.

Then again, it might never have been anything they could cure. I’m just left to sit here now, in a ward full of people in varying stages of decay. There’s ten of us in here. Three of them are definitely dead. Two of them are complaining of a fever and the nurse walking around has a god damn biohazard suit on. I feel like I could do with one of those. Wouldn’t make any difference, they injected that thing straight into me and hoped they’d find out why I react the way I react. Fifteen blood tests later and they’re still not sure what’s going on. So they locked me in here because I’m beyond saving, I guess.

There’s a girl on my ward, in the bed next to me. Ellen, she said her name is. She was one of those ones they brought in that take drugs, specifically to see whether crack, or smack or meth or whatever had any sort of effect. She already looked like a skeleton when she came in here, but she was getting worse every hour. She can barely move now. So I’m writing this down while I’m still capable of thinking. The nurse did at least grant me a pad of lined paper and a pen before I kicked the bucket. I’d rather have a final meal like they do on death row. A chance to say a few last words to my family.

I can’t believe I signed up to this thing. Willingly! I suppose it was because it was played down so much no one thought it would ever amount to anything. We should’ve seen it coming really, given that they approved human vaccine trials so quickly. I just wanted to pay off my student debts, and they were promising to give me a healthy sum of money towards it, and all I had to do was sit around in a hospital for a couple of weeks and give blood samples every few hours.

My skin is crawling. I can feel the necrosis caressing my insides, death is tapping me on the shoulder. I’m trying to tell death that he’s had his fill for the day, he can leave me alone for a few more years yet. All I hear is his chuckling in my ear and Ellen screaming at something.

I looked over, peeling my blanket off me. The fever hit without me even noticing it. One of the ones we thought was dead is moving. He rolled out of bed and slammed down into the floor like a pig from its meat hook in the abattoir. And then he got up. But it wasn’t the same person. Same body. But dead. His flesh was all gray and waxy looking. His eyes were blood shot and milky white.

The nurses dragged him off and I don’t know what happened to him. I guess it’ll happen to me, but by the looks of it, I won’t know what’s going on. It made me uneasy at first, but I’m so hot now that I don’t care anymore. I just want to stop feeling like I’m about to fall apart. I think I’m going to go to sleep for a few minutes. 

The End

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