My fevers only gotten worse as the hours passed. I can't stop shaking at this point. My fingers keep jerking, open and closed.
Every few minutes, the spasmodic coughing will subside and I'll start being optimistic. Oh look! It's finally passing. This little bug of mine. The new compound is kicking in. Storming through my veins and killing that fucking disease.
(EXCEPT IT CAN'T BE CURED - DEGENERATIVE DISEASE HOW CAN THEY)
And I'll settle back, and try to sleep...
And then the spasms will start, my entire body will shoot forward and I'll struggle against the constraints of the bed for a bit. Futile, I know, these things are solid.
(IT'S A FUCKING BRAIN DEGENERATIVE DISEASE - THEY CAN'T CURE THAT, BRAIN DAMAGE. THEY MIGHT STOP THE DISEASE BUT)
Every breath burns. My skin feels so cold... icy almost... but my insides, dear good lord, on fucking fire...
The nurses (Anna and Elissa) wont come inside as they had before. First of all, they all come in chaperoned by a guard. Either Sean or Hector. Second of all, they've started wearing Hazmat suits. The medial staff and the guards.
Is my health that brittle? Have I suddenly erupted into contagion?
(THEY CAN'T CURE THE DAMAGE - THE FUCKING DAMAGE, MAYBE THE DISEASE - BUT NOT THE DAMAGED BRAIN)
Henry came in around midday, his usual genial smile hidden behind the plastic face of the suit, he asked me a few questions, none of which I answered. Not because I didn't want to communicate (GOD I WANTED TO COMMUNICATE) but because I couldn't.
I can't hear a damn thing anymore.
Only that fucking snarl. The break and clash of something in my head. Getting closer. Leaning into me. Something infected. Something inhumane. Something that never was.
(OH LORD - I'M SO FUCKED. OH LORD, PLEASE JESUS, JUST END THIS SHIT - I CAN'T STAND THE BURN, THE CRACKLE, THE FEAR)
The doctor just looked at me, incomprehension dawning on his face. Maybe I was saying something? Maybe...
Maybe it was gibberish? Maybe a prayer? Maybe just a plea to die...
He left quickly, flanked by a guard at his shoulder.
And I can't help but feel I am dying, and it's so scary for that to be a relief. But it is.
The burn will end. The monstrous sounds will end. And I'll finally be nothing again.
(THE SUN WILL NEVER DIE)
Burning. My body is burning. And I'm infected with a degenerative brain disease, is it too much to assume my sanity is being torn apart, as the seconds fly by?
If I close my eyes, it's really easy to imagine I'm back at the burning elementary school. The crack and boom. My searing body contrasting for the flames. My icy skin a testament to the chilly night air.
And the feral snarl, the danger and fear, of the night.