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The humanity is almost wiped out because of an incurable-or-so-it-seemed sickness.
When fifteen year old Cora Lee discovers that someone close to her heart is sick of the Slow Loris, as they now call it, she has to find a way to...
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____________________ NAME: Mwana Keita
AGE: 71 y/o
NATIONALITY: African-American
LIKES: Space, cooking
DISLIKES: Cows, broccoli
QUOTE:
'If you REALLY want to do something, you'll find a way If you DON'T, you'll find an excuse' ____________________
For an early morning, the sun was shining brighter than usual. The wind blew in an almost vengeful way, as if it the whole universe did something to it. The leaves danced in the air like drunken ballerinas and even the stones found it difficult to stick to their beloved ground. Yet something else was off. The sound of the wind didn't seem to exist, no sound coming from the leaves that frayed gently from time to time and the open-mouthed birds didn't sing.
Suddenly there was a loud scream. The voice was that of a woman who was deeply in panic. Her dark hair that was once tied into a tight knot, was now controlled by the power of air. The woman's pretty, normally mocha-colored face, covered in horror as if she had just seen a ghost, was ashen. Her full lips formed an O and she desperately tried to regularly breathe. In and out, she thought.
Then she heard the voices again in her head and began to scream this time even more deafening. She ran as fast as she could, trying to escape the sound. Yet it did the opposite. Instead of making the voices disappear, the adrenaline she felt when running, made them louder. And louder. And louder. Until the poor astronaut just couldn't stand on her feet and fell onto the cold hard ground.
Mwana woke up panting and sweating, now sitting in her bed. She looked around and the same pain she felt every morning when she woke up, came back. The empty space next to her, the pillow she so much cared about, the PJ's and the faint odor of her adored husband, who had passed away, felt like sharp needles cutting her heart, endlessly. Each night she had the same nightmare, the memories she had left of her second day on Hercules. The woman was now back on earth, but had no idea if what had happened to her was real. Because she was the sole survivor.
Once Mwana was reunited with her family, the then seven-years old Samira and her husband, Nolas wanted to chase the bad by creating good. And so she gave birth to her second daughter, Fayzah.
But the happiness didn't last long. Until then, the worst that had happened were some obsessed paparazzis, which the woman could deal with.
Two years later, Nolas got sick. At the time, of course, the ex-astronaut didn't realise it would be fatal.
It wasn't the kind of sickness that you often dealt with. The effects were pretty much the complete opposite. Instead of feeling bad, the victims got a boost of energy that made them want to rule the world for the first few hours. The humble Nolas, hadn't got to the point of wanting to rule over the world, but Mwana had noticed something was off.
And he wasn't the only one with a strange behaviour. Many of their neighbors dealt with the same problems.
A hundred days after that, Nolas' body fell into a deep coma and stopped working.
Worst of all: it could not be cured. The scientists were desperately looking for a cure, yet they didn't find anything. So the widow decided to look for one on her own. And despite not having studied for it, she managed to learn a lot about diseases and their cures. But it was never enough.
In the mean time Fayzah, the youngest daughter, had given birth to a chubby baby girl.
But Mwana's granddaughter had not been any luckier than her poor passed away grandfather. The Slow Loris had gotten to her.
"Mom!!" Fayzah screamed, in joy. That surprised Mwana, because since the doctors had announced the fate of her cute daughter, the young mom had been devastaded. Fayzah stormed into her mother's room, with a broad smile on her face, and took her mother with her to the room of her daughter. She almost ripped of Mwana's arm, but the woman followed her, grinning because Fayzah rarely was so excited and happy. In fact, she never was.
When they entered the baby blue room, Mwana saw a doctor bending over the small baby. She still remembered how her youngest daughter had insisted on painting the room in blue, because she wanted her daughter to understand that she was as capable than any male that taught her otherwise. The white crib rocked slowly in a sort of hypnotising way. Then the doctor turned to her and said:
