The Disease

Part 1

Clouds of thick mist closed around, sweeping away her vision. She would run, but she couldn’t, as she was bound to the floor. The spiraling cloud reached her head, as she strained away from it gasping the uninfected air while she could. All too soon, the gray overcame her, and her eyelids grew heavy. Her fingertips and toes tingled, the feeling spreading deeper and deeper into her, reaching into her ribs and vibrating her lungs. Her panicked thoughts seemed to slow, her muscles relaxing. She felt so peaceful, so calm. She wanted to laugh, sputter heaving chortles until her belly hurt. It seemed so ridiculous to feel so passive at such a time. The gas kept slowing her, slowing her heart, slowing her brainwaves, slowing her reactions. She slowed and slowed into unconsciousness, in which she remained for hours on end.

When she awoke, she wasn’t really sure where she was. The place looked so familiar, she just couldn’t place a finger on it. Her mind was still churning slowly, her thoughts all coming back in bits and pieces, fitting together to complete the puzzle. Then she started to remember. She started to remember the horrid things she’d done. The horrid reasons she was here, in what seemed to be a holding cell. She was a murderer, and she’d never, ever forget it. 

***

ELEVEN YEARS PREVIOUS

She is young again. A little girl. She’s prancing around an empty field, her shiny pigtails hitting her face when she swung her head. Her dress billowed in the light breeze. It was a gorgeous setting, really. So cliché, so delightful. Her parents stood by, sitting on a worn picnic table and chatting nicely. She’d been playing for hours, chasing after squirrels and birds.

But all the sudden, a feeling overcame her. It seemed to take her mind, take away her control. She was scared, terrified. She felt emotions she’d never felt. Her mind spun, trying to digest what was happening. Her brain seemed to pulse, seemed to shift and change shapes inside her skull. But slowly, she began to feel a sense of power. She felt the terror recede, replaced with a want. A need. She had a craving, an uncontainable hunger. The clouds above her seemed to swirl, to spiral until they seemed to point down at her. Her eyes narrowed, and chubby fists clenched. She was hungry. She couldn't be stopped, for the Disease has once again taken root in another soul.

Her Mary Jane’s stomped toward her parents, who seemed slightly concerned. Their daughter’s eyes grew red, then they watched in horror as she drew closer, her eyes turning a pure, shiny black. A slow gurgle rumbled from the small girl’s throat, turning into a barely audible mumble of an indescribable language, one they’d never heard. She stuck a tiny fist out, inches from her mother's face. Her small fingers extended, and her muttering grew louder and louder. When her palm was flat, facing the sky, she shouted something, something in that horrible language. She snapped her fist shut, and her mom flinched. But nothing happened. She sighed in relief.

But slowly, she felt her eyes water. She blinked, but they were still damp. She felt a liquid running down her cheeks, faster and faster. Her eyes stung sharply, and she reached a hand to her face. It came away soaked in blood. The mother screamed, her eyes beginning to dissolve completely, running in different colors down her face. The little girl shouted one last command, and the woman slumped forward, dead.

Her father, paralyzed in shock, slowly raised his hands to the sky in surrender. The girl merely laughed, deep and devilish, surely not her own. She stuck both hands in front of her and clenched her hands, palm down.

From deep in her throat, words, in English, began to flow. These were the last words he’d ever hear, and he knew it.

“I’ll make yours fast and quick,” the Disease fed though the little child’s mouth. And with that, she bent her hands so her knuckles faced each other, like she was breaking a stick. The father jerked, and his neck snapped, is head rolling of the picnic table and thumping to the dewy grass below.