The Diseased

C.2

Chapter Two

It was right there. The diseased creature who was about to infect me with its deathly, incurable sickness.
I was going to die.
The world had gone slow for a moment, and it was just myself and my thoughts. I think I had come to terms with dying, and that I accepted the fate that everyone was bound to die, and I was just going to sooner than some others. I would find peace and be free, and maybe I would find my parents, and my younger brother.
And for one moment, I yearned to die. I wanted to be with my family, and no longer have to be lonely. I didn't want this anymore, I didn't want to feel this anymore, and I wanted to die.
But then,
I didn't.
I couldn't die this way.
There was no way. I had to live for so much more; I had to make some significance in the world, even if it meant killing a few of the diseased, even it was just one less to worry about.
So I lurched backwards, and fumbled for my gun. Unfortunately, it didn't have many bullets left, probably one or two, but if I aimed correctly and stayed calm and breathe, because you're running out of breath, I could-
BANG!
And then the dead creature slumped to the side, dead once again.
I let out a sigh of relief, and sat with my back hunched, hugging my knees. For a moment, I stared at the corpse, with his head that barely looking like a head, what with it being exploded, bits and pieces of brain spattered across the cold floor.
I shuddered, wondering what it would look like if in place of the creature was me, with my arms sprawled out and my insides... no longer inside of me, I guess would be an accurate way to describe it. I shook the thought away and gave it no more of my importance, and I stood up with my legs shaking, grasping the lunchbox I had never let go of.
As I slowly made my way up the stairs, I had come to the realization that I hadn't been the only person to be put in a scenario like that. And I wasn't the only one to survive a scenario like that either-but there were others that did face that situation, and died.
My hand met the railing as I walked up the stairs, regaining my familiarity with walking.
What if someone is dying right now?
I pursed my lips, and kept my eyes on the next step on the staircase.
Like those three guys, you could've saved them. But you didn't. You let them die.
I shook my head, and coughed, ignoring the rising feeling in my throat that made it impossible to talk.
They could be living right now. What if they had a family? What if they went out looking for a shelter for their children, and they made them stay behind so they wouldn't die?
I almost choked, bringing my sleeve to my eyes.
And now they're orphans. They're probably not even going to survive their first night alone. You're no better than the diseased. You're a cold blooded murderer.
"SHUT UP!" I cried out, and slumped to the floor. My shoulders shook as I cried into my hands, trying to shake the thought of three little children, clinging to each other, out of my head.
"They'll be okay, they'll be okay," I mumbled, and took a deep breath as I stood up once again, leaning on the railing for support as a few more tears trickled down my cheeks.
You should let in the next person you see that needs help. Unless you don't care if they die or not.
I nodded quickly, in full agreement with the idea. That way, I wouldn't feel as guilty for all the other deaths I've probably caused.
I smiled in a sad, pathetic way, and made my way into the Teacher's Lounge. I set the lunch box on the counter, and took out a somewhat decent sized bag of Season and Shake-Garlic Chicken on the counter. All I had to do was empty the bag into a pan, add water, and let it cook for twelve minutes.
My stomach growled as I turned away from the miniature stove to get a plastic cup and fill it with water. I would typically be smart and try and save as much water as possible and use the sink, but it wouldn't work, which was just my luck. I didn't even really care for dish water anyways.
After twelve agonizingly long minutes that consisted of me, staring directly at the pan of sizzling food, it was cooked to somewhat-perfection (Granted, I had taken it off the stove about two minutes earlier than it should have been, so it was about ten agonizingly long minutes).
With my plastic silverware, I took small bites and chewed slowly, savoring the taste. It was all I had eaten all day, though it was typical of me to only have one course of food daily. It made supplies last longer, and it postponed that date I knew I would have to give up on the old preschool and move out.
The chicken reminded me of my mother's cooking. Sadly, she was a horrible chef, so she was all about fast food, take out, and dinners-in-a-bag. It was as close as home-made, plus it was all I knew, so I really didn't mind.
•
"Alright Bethie-Boo," My mother teased, bending down on her knees. "I'm going to teach you how to use the stove in case Mommy and Daddy aren't home, and you're super-duper hungry for Mac & Cheese."
A six year old version of myself nodded quickly, with wide eyes full of wonder.
"Um, Amber? Are you sure you want to let our daughter near the stove? Our six year old daughter?" My father peered over the kitchen counter, holding my little brother Aaron in his arms, his eyebrows bushy yet knotted and furrowed with doubt.
"Relax, Thomas, my mom taught me how to use the stove when I was four or something, and I turned out just fine, right?" My mother placed her hand on her hip, and smirked playfully at my father.
He raised an eyebrow, and grinned. "Right..."
My mother scoffed, her smile never leaving her face. "Oh, so you would prefer a normal wife? Like Joanne?"
My father shook his head, and set Aaron down in his crib (mind you, my little brother was four at the time, and he still belonged in a crib. It sort of goes to show you my parent's parenting skills at the time weren't so amazing). He walked over to his wife, and kissed the side of her head, wrapping his arms around her.
"Darling, if you were normal, we would have never met. Therefore, I am so very grateful that your mother let you cook on the stove when you were four, and I'm also very grateful that she wasn't aware you were in love with 'KISS' at the time."
"And that I sneaked out at night to go to that concert?"
"Especially that you sneaked out that night to go to that concert."
"And that my idiot friend bought me a ticket last minute, so I had to sit with you, and not them?"
He nodded, and I could tell he hadn't really listened to her last words. The love in his eyes for the woman before him was so great; it made my heart so incredibly happy for a family like this.
He nudged their noses together, and he gave her one final kiss before he turned back to Aaron.
"If Beth gets to learn how to use the stove, then I get to teach Aaron the lyrics to 'Rock and Roll All Night'. Fair trade?" He reached down to pick up his son, and then looked back at his wife.
"Hm...make it 'Detroit Rock City', take it or leave it."
"Rock and Roll All Night, or I'll call Child Services and tell them that you're letting our daughter cook on the stove." He joked, cradling the toddler in his arms.
"Hmph, fine." My mother shrugged her shoulders, and then turned to back me, smiling cheekily. "Alright Bethie-Boo, are you ready? Okay, so you need to get a cup of water boiling here..."
•
I sort of half-smiled at the memory and reached for my cup of water, gulping it down until there wasn't any of the beverage left in it. After setting the cup back down, I glanced at wall clock. It read 10:27.
The diseased were gone from this part of town, and it was around this time when I tried to make myself fall asleep, though the odds were I probably wouldn't. I've had more sleepless nights than restful ones in all.
I didn't bother moving my plate to the sink-I had no one to impress.
The way up to the second floor, where I had set up my makeshift bed, was short and quiet. I had my arms crossed, allowing myself as much warmth as possible. Because the air conditioning in the building was broken, I needed to find as many blankets and sweaters as possible. I had learned my lesson last year, where I found myself huddled in a corner, teeth chattering. Thankfully, it was only autumn, but it was only a matter of months before winter threatened another dreadful season.
As I made my way to my bed, in which was compiled of several blankets I had found (my guess is that children used them for naptime), I passed by several empty classrooms, which made me think of all the children out there now, some with and without their families. Others...probably happier, and in a better place.
I tried to push the thought out of my head, but it was so difficult not to. I bit my lip, furrowing my eyebrows and forcing my eyes shut as I tried as hard as I could to force the image out of my mind.
They're gone. Maybe they wouldn't be gone if you let people in...
I opened my eyes, and I almost couldn't stand the guilt as it built up inside of me.
It's your fault. They're dead. You did this.
I sat up and tossed the blanket aside, the pain unbearable to deal with.
Murderer. Killer. How does it feel to take the lives of innocent people?
I ran down the stairs, tripping over my own feet. I quickly glanced at the clock that read 10:49.
Families are ripped apart because of you. Children are orphans. It's your fault.
"SHUT. UP!" I shouted to my thoughts, to my self-conscious. As I bolted down to the first floor, I made my way to the doors that hadn't been opened in about two years.
My hands touched the cold metal of the door handles, and I took a deep breath.
You'll never, ever be forgiven if you don't do this. But you'll always be murderer.
Tears streamed down my cheeks and I shook my head no, I'm not a murderer, I'm a normal human, and I've made mistakes, but I'm not a murderer!
Breathe.
Breathe.
It's okay.
With all my strength I had left from the day, I opened the doors to the building.