What's left (残り物)

25. A fibble not a wobble but a fasn't

                                                                                    Boris

If you asked me about half the shit I come up to in the waste I couldn't even begin to give you the answer. Even with an understanding of unique biology and physics there are things out here you can't even begin to chew down even if you could stomach the answers. I am one of those people who can stomach those answers. I've survived so far doing things others would think twice against. I've done things that many wouldn't be able to simply because their heart doesn't bring them to do it, but this. This is something else.

Taxes for a person who doesn't even live on their property. They're diplomatic bandits. They thrive off of taking from others. They disgust me. It's hard to believe that Gray could even stomach once being a part of them. That in itself would disgust me with me. Everyday I have to go out in this shithole of a world and get to see first handedly what people thrive in this world. I see the usual bandits, the occasional cannibal, of course zombie upon zombie (although it seems like they've been rarer for some reason), mutants, some interesting things. I saw some opossum hybrid get bit one day and decided to stalk him out of pure curiosity to see when he would become one of those walking husk. I followed him from a distance observing, examining, predicting, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I saw him make a stop at a cabin. I peered through his window expecting any second he would fall crumpling to the ground from the virus's innate ability to cause heart palpitations. That in itself is the leading cause for why it causes death really. The second most common reason being that it causes death by dehydration from the immense repulsion of water making the body unable to drink water ultimately ALSO causing a heart attack, but I peered through that glass window with its clear resolution. I stared almost unblinking at the possum and his bite wound. He gave it no thought and only doused it in some rubbing alcohol. He covered the grave wound with a clean white bandage and smiled a sharp grin. A fireplace complete with some forest wood lay engulfed in flames as the fire crackles. The crackling being the only sound within the forest that the cabin resides, but soon another sound accompanies the crackling as a light hum fills his room. The sound was a solemn hum. The hum of a song that only reminds one of a time more comforting. A broken hum that he still hums. He takes a picture from the shelf above his fireplace. I can only make out that it's a picture of four people standing together smiling in front of a blue lake. He sits there in his chair as the fire illuminates his face. The face of some being who carries a great burden with them. The face of a person who is tired of his fight. The face of an individual who was luckier than his loved ones. He sets the picture back, and rest back in his chair. The embers of burnt wood glowing against his furred face. The possum man's expression is unchanging only staring at the fire. 

I waited. Waited more. Nothing. Waited. Nothing. I only watched as the fire continued to flicker and give the possum man a feeling of warmth. What felt like hours were only in reality minutes ticking by. He didn't twitch. He didn't groan. He didn't die. He just sat their basking in the light. I immediately was confused on how he still sat their unturned. Coursing through my mind the many hypotheses of why he didn't turn. Was he immune? Had the virus mutated into a form now unable to even maintain itself in it's host? Was the bite just an illusion? No he specifically had to clean and bandage it. The virus still affects people to this day but....immunity. He may have been immune somehow. There are no vaccines or even a preventative medicine against it I don't understand

and then it hit me.

He was an opossum. His body temperature is an average of 94 degrees Fahrenheit. 34 degrees Celsius. Which means that the virus is unable to reproduce in his body. I wouldn't be too close to a fire if I was him, but it seems the fire is dying down. The bright fire now is just a red glow on the logs with their black char and their white ashes. I suppose that I should make my way back with what information I've gathered. He'll see me eventually if I stick around.

Just one of my memories that is invaluable knowledge. Another is a more gore filled one. The townspeople all considered me the more silent type. They all considered me a simpler being. Young, inexperienced, unknowing and new to an alien world around me. Although bits of that are true there's no bigger betrayal of those descriptions to reality than simple. Every breath I take feeds into the biological machine that I am. From my magenta blood to the albino fur that covers the brush of my cheeks to my duo groin to my wrapped paw-like feet. Every bit of me is in no way deserving of the title simple. I try to even study my own biology to attempt to even learn what I am myself. I am obviously different from other hybrids as no other hybrids have this purple-ish slimy viscous blood like me. I need to get back to town and actually delve deeper into why my blood actually is like that. I look at the bandage on my hand and see a dark purple stain. It isn't infected and that's what matters. I can only wonder if I myself could be immune to the virus. Best not find out the hard way. Gray looks back to me and places the large map down on the table flat and spread out. It's a map of the entire area spanning 100 by 100 miles. We are somewhere to the middle left side. Theirs a river nearby and we're both parched. 

I guess that's our next stop.