We lived in peace for more than 20 years, in a small and quiet village. Fresh, clean air, the smell of earth and, many times, rain, reigned in our beloved Xijiang. We lived in peace with Mother and Lian, until the plague came to our home. The nearby cities of Guiyang and Guilin had been alerted, but it seemed to have gotten out of hand. A tsunami of mosquitoes had crossed the Chinese border looking for more victims. They feared the usual: dengue and Zika. But it was worse, much worse. Scientific research soon followed, spreading panic among the population.
"Several experiments done on the species "Culicidae" have proved an evident evolution in these insects. With it, a disease has arisen. The patients have presented a severe feverish state (it is suspected, because of a possible infection caused by the parasites) and skin eruptions...".
My first encounter with an infected person was in my own home. Lian had woken up with a fever reaching 39°. A doctor came to our home and prescribed medication, which turned out to be completely ineffective. Lian was feeling worse and worse and Mother was beginning to despair. The thread linking madness and sanity was broken when strange pimples appeared from Lian's hand, pimples that had something inside. It was black, you could see through the skin how it writhed. The moans turned to piercing screams as from the hand, blood-covered grayish worms emerged from Lian's flesh. Their slimy black beaks devoured small pieces of flesh from my sister's hand, shaking their heads sharply in exasperation. The doctor had tried to remove them, but as he tugged at them, Lian screamed even louder. Those parasites were clinging to her tendons and had worked their way through Lian's flesh and veins, all the way to the surface. Nine holes, nine worms that fed on my sister without rest.
Six weeks passed and Lian was no longer human. Her face, her whole body was full of holes, full of slimy worms, restless, emerging from her flesh, looking for more of Lian to devour. But there was no more. Lian was gone, and along with her, those parasites. Her burial was private, only Mother, the village Pastor and I watched the coffin descend. I couldn't help thinking that inside that dark, dry coffin, the worms would keep moving until they rotted. They left nothing but anguish and an empty room. At least the torment for Lian was over. She would be resting in peace somewhere better, and we would go on with our lives.
I returned to the rice fields, dipping my hands in the water and picking the plants with great care. My mind enjoyed wandering in such sunny, tiring times. I thought of Mother, of Lian, of my future, of that old bridge I had always liked. I thought of the worms, the image was blurry, but I could make them out on the screen of my mind. I decided not to think anymore, it was bad. It was bad for me. I continued collecting the plants, I pulled out one, two, the third one was hard to pull out, it required a lot of strength but it ended up yielding. The plant came out of the water like a cannonball and I fell down sitting down abruptly. I cursed a little, it had already happened to me. It didn't matter, I stood up and when it was time to pick up the plant that had fallen on the path, I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes began to blur, my legs faltered, my ears only perceived static. In my hand there was something black moving, something emerging from the flesh and tearing the skin apart. A trickle of blood ran and a drop mixed with the water. It began to move, and as if on cue, eight more black dots appeared under my skin to join the first. It was them.
