And I sat there, watching it all happen.
That was the funny thing about it, you see. I wasn’t the only one who was immune to it. There must have been a couple of thousand of us in the UK alone, wandering around the body-strewn streets in a sort of dazed shock.
I bumped into a couple of survivors once or twice. We got a fire going and had a meal together, pooling our resources to aid our desperately slim chances of survival. But I never saw them again after that night. I hadn’t really expected to.
It was not just the disease that killed people. It was starvation and pneumonia. We couldn’t sleep in the houses, even those that hadn’t been burnt to the ground or bricked up by terrified people trying to stop themselves from catching the illness. People whispered of strange, mutated strains of the virus clinging to the walls of houses, and we were afraid to take shelter there. I wasn’t’ afraid, because I was never afraid of anything, as long as there were people with me.
Every night, we would fall asleep in the open air, never knowing whether we would ever wake up again, or whether our heart would freeze during the long, bitterly cold nights. But I always did, though my companions hardly ever made it through. There was something about me that repelled the cold. I’ve never known why.
That was not the only enigma. I have always been a freak – I can endure cold and hunger to an extent that would bring many people to their knees. I haven’t lost that skill, it seems. I can go for huge periods of time without any food or water, provided I’m in contact with the sun.
Tell me I’m crazy, but I know my skin has gone green. Not bright, leafy green, but not far off either. That’s what leads me to believe that perhaps I’m photosynthesising.
Strange, but true.
[incomplete - to be continued soon!]