The Mindless Man's Paradise

Chapter fifty

  With this illness, minutes felt like hours, and hours seemed like days. Time fused within itself, confusing me; driving me insane. Was it day? Was it night?

  How would I know?

  The lights were always off.

  I felt like I was already dead, complete and utter blackness, always, every day, every second, endless pain. This was what the afterlife would be like.

  Or maybe I was already dead?

  I screamed randomly, trying to push the insanity from my brain.

  All I could do was look forward to the moment they injected us with the cure, even if it did mean that another torture was on its way. I didn’t care.

  I couldn’t take it anymore.

  The smeared blood had almost turned into a sort of masterpiece upon the wall. It was mine along with Cyrus’s, there was no way in denying the artistic symphony that our disease riddled fingers had created.

  In desperation, we had cut a huge portion of flooring, thinning it to created blankets, in which we cuddled under. Despite the warmth we should be feeling, we were both shuddering under the layers and layers of blankets. I brought my knees to my chest, and a cry of despair escaped my mouth. I shoved my head under the covers, trying anything to be warm.

  Minutes later, Cyrus joined me under the covers. He pressed his cold fingers to my neck, pulling my head into his chest and wrapping his arms protectively around me.

  We slept that way; like a giant ball of coughing, shaking, and vomiting bodies.

  I woke up to his gentle sleeping face, and pressed my fingers to his cracked, discolored lips. His skin had lost color and he looked as if he had been out in the snow for too long.

  Suddenly, I wondered how I could see these things if the lights were out.

  And that’s when I realized that no, the lights were not out.

  I threw the covers off of myself and stood up quickly; too quickly.

  My fragile knees gave way and I fell to the floor, my body seemingly breaking like glass under me.

  The lock on the door turned, and it swung open. It was my brother, but who was I to be surprised anymore?

  In his hands were two overly large needles with liquid in them that sloshed about with each step. I knew what this meant, and all I think to do was upturn my wrist, making sure he could see my veins through my translucent skin right before I passed out.