We All Fall Down

Outbreak

March 8th

Seattle, Washington

It was on the news again. It was just like the Ebola outbreak back in 2014; it began in west Africa, slowly and yet quickly spreading across the region. The death tolls numbered in just the thousands still, which wasn't bad considering the infection covered six countries completely, and partially covered three more.

It was one of those outbreaks that was scary to think about, since it had a ninety percent death rate, yet at the same time, wasn't scary at all—after all, Africa was a poor place with poor healthcare. Should it reach Europe or North America—which, everyone knew it wouldn't—it would be put down in a heartbeat.

Really, he wasn't worried.

The Gambia had declared a state of emergency, however, and Senegal had quickly followed suit. Though both small and poor countries, they were countries nonetheless, and two countries declaring a state of emergency within three days of each other was definitely newsworthy. It was also worthy of his attention. So he watched and listened on.

The news anchor spoke over top of a map that showed the spread of the outbreak. The fuzzy red area showing the boundaries of the disease completely covered The Gambia—which was ground zero, the news anchor said—Senegal, Guinea-Bissau, Guinea, Sierra Leone, and Liberia. It also covered small parts of Mauritania and Mali, and it covered about half of Côte d'Ivoire.

"Though these appear to be the limits of the disease thus far," the news anchor said, "deaths have not yet been reported in Côte d'Ivoire or Mali, and only two deaths have been reported in Mauritania. Doctors are getting close to a vaccine, and five of the nine infected countries have banned all flights in and out until further notice. We're doing all we can to slow the spread of the virus, and we appear to be succeeding." It cut away from the map and back to the gray-haired anchorman. "In sadder news, a North Carolina man and his wife have symptoms of Fine Hominis after returning from vacation in Guinea. Both have been quarantined in a hospital in Charlotte, and are expected to make a full recovery."

So he was right. This disease was nothing for Americans to worry about.

He turned the TV off in annoyance and walked to the bathroom to relieve himself of his urge to take a dump. Diarrhea. Fun.

He did what he needed to do, and went to wash his hands. As his did so, he looked up and saw his face in the mirror. Great. A nosebleed. Again. He already hadn't been feeling well the past couple weeks, and now his nose was bleeding on top of that, as if his body was intentionally tormenting him. Though, he had been prone to nosebleeds his whole life, but eleven in a day? It wasn't even time for dinner yet. And how did he get two black eyes?

Regardless, he felt fine, aside from this minor fever or whatever it was he'd had for the past two weeks. Maybe it was just the lighting in the bathroom that made his eyes look all bruised and sick. That didn't explain the nose, obviously, but that was just acting up. It wasn't a big deal.

His nose plugged with toilet paper, he'd barely made it to the kitchen before he had to go again. Irritated, he shuffled back to the bathroom and let more of the diarrhea flow. Like he was a water hose or something. It just...wouldn't stop.

After what seemed like a year, he was done. He had to be empty by now, with nothing left to even get rid of. He felt like he'd turned his intestines inside out and pooped that out, too. He made sure to wash his hands really good this time.

Alright. Now he wasn't feeling so great. Not after that fiasco. He'd just make himself a sandwich and go lay down. On the couch, probably, since it was closer to the toilet.

He'd barely had time to put the ham between the bread before he felt the urge to go again. Only this time, he didn't have the time to answer it.

After a few short seconds of something warm running down his leg, he saw it leak out of his pants and onto the floor.

He threw his sandwich on the floor and swore at the top of his lungs. Not only did he ruin a pair of pants, not only did he have a mess to clean up, not only did he waste a sandwich, but it was also embarrassing, even if no one else ever found out about it.

He swore again, but too loudly, as it made him cough. First once. Then twice. Then three, four, five times. He scooted back to the bathroom—leaving a smelly trail the whole way—and coughed into the toilet, just in case he started relieving himself from both ends. He coughed and coughed until he felt like he'd rather die; it had to be at least three minutes of nonstop coughing. When he finally finished, he opened his eyes; he couldn't see. Mainly because his eyes were too watery, but also because everything seemed...darker. He wiped his eyes, and he noticed that he couldn't see as many colors. Everything seemed muted. He could see one color very clearly though, and that was the red in the toilet bowl. Not bright red, but a dark, tarry red. Had his nose bled that much?

After a few seconds, he had come to his senses enough to taste something. Oh, he realized. It didn't all come from my nose.

He was bleeding from his nose and mouth, he was having diarrhea everywhere, his eyes were purple and black, he was coughing uncontrollably, and he was going blind.

But he was fine.

He was sure of it.

He had to be.

He died three days later.