Experiment 1.0

Thursday, June 7th, 2018 4:26 pm

        "...thus far our doctors have collected little information on this illness. Though the virus is physically the same in every host it's inhabited; it effects varies. One might experience organ failure, deuteration of white blood cells, blood clots, lethal swelling of the brain that can cause nearly instant death, and so on. " The female nurse with a head of fiery red hair flips the top sheet of her clipboard down and shifts her eyes to align with ours.

        "Scientists believe the virus dissolves itself into the bloodstream, however, even patients with transfusions are still affected." Her voice is too theoretical and formalistic. Maybe she's experienced so much tragedy in her line of work that it barely phases her any further, or maybe she's trapped behind a mask from 9-5. "We have yet to find a cure." I hear each word clearly, digest the statement fully. I could describe every word to you in full detail, yet the sentences as whole slips away from me. I can't grasp what It's supposed to tell me. It sounds like she's speaking in a different language. I swallow the block of fear ascending it's way up my throat and ask the analytical fire-haired nurse where to find the bathroom.

        "Down the hall, to the left. It's next to room C17." I slither through the deep halls that fill my nose with apathetic chemicals. C14, C15, C16, C17. At last, I reach the restroom. I pounce on the door and lock it behind me. Pressing my entire body weight against the cold metal with fear I'll crash to the ground.

        Suddenly I'm sick. Nausea rises to my head as I curl over the side of the bowl. I empty the pit of my stomach out until there is nothing left to spit back out. I rinse my mouth out in the sink, but the bitter taste of bile still remains on the back of my tongue.  Lethal. No Cure. Death. Those were words I never in a thousand years would want to associate with my father. I picture him lying unconscious on the dull white hospital bed. The unwelcome words continue to echo through my mind until I lash out in passionate anger.  My fist collides with the sturdy brick wall.

       How is this fair? To Arty. To me. To my mom. The universe already stole my mother's  parents from her, leaving her with nothing but ashes of broken memories. The wall unsurprisingly stands its ground, but I couldn't say the same for my hand.  Now coated in thick crimson that slowly runs down my wrist. I stare blankly shocked by how little pain I felt. I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. I've been here 12 minutes. The water splashes light pink as it washes down the drain.

       As I near the room slowly  I hear a strange sound. Laughter? I barge in startled by the sight of my father sitting upright in the hospital bed. A hand over his mouth and his chest rising and falling in amusement. "Alex." his voice is deep and comforting. "You're awake?" I manage to ask, though my voice cracks slightly. "Nope." He jokes and slides the plain sheets over his eyes.

        Instantly my legs become sentient creatures of their own and sprint toward him full throttle. My arms wrap around him and I'm shaken by the strength presented when he squeezes back. "Easy there Squirrel, don't choke me." Squirrel. I'd always hated that nickname that originated from the time the four of us visited a zoo, and I referred to a tiger as "Mr. Squirrel." But now just hearing the name slip through his mouth; I want to keep it forever.

        I release him and stare at his features he seems strong again, but still missing... something I couldn't spot. Then slowly it feels normal again- it's just the four of us (and Mrs. Cooper sitting quietly in the background). A family talking, joking-just being a family. We are all laughing at a silly comment Arty added to the conversation when my father whispers in a low voice "Squirrel," and gestures for me to come closer.

        "Listen, Squirrel. I'm sorry to bring down the mood, but I need to ask this of you." I nod my head for him to continue, though part of me doesn't want him to.  "I know you understand that this virus is extremely...mysterious. We don't know what could happen." He lifts his shoulders nonchalantly and I don't like where he is going with this. "Please, can you just promise this for me?" My smile fades because I already know what he is planning to say.

        "I need you to look after Arty. If this goes south, so will your mother." He shifts his glassy eyes to stare at my mom-his wife. "Do you remember the time after her parent's death?" Of course, I remember. How could I ever forget the weeks of delivery pizza and McDonald's, because she refused to let herself or anyone else under our roof even touch a stove. The months of unresponded questions and dead silence. The nights I woke-up to quiet sobs and the days my mother was no longer my mother. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes as I respond. "Yes, I promise." "Thank you, Squirrel. I really do lo-"

        Suddenly my father's body violently shakes and an alarm on his station sounds a warning. Three doctors rush into the room and ushers us outside. Visiting hours are long past over, so they tell us to return tomorrow after a good night's sleep. But I don't want to sleep, and I feel like I would never want to sleep again.