TWITCH {{FINISHED}}

Twitch {Prologue} ~How It All Starts~

It all starts out with a twitch in your hand. Everything does. It's annoying, weird and probably something you've never experienced before. Truth is, it's something only a select few have ever experienced, and you are one of those few, but you don't know this yet.

At first it - the twitch - is small, almost unnoticeable and you find it only as a disturbance. Like an itch in your foot; you learn to ignore it after a while. Then you freak out when it keeps going on, five hours straight and are no longer able to stop it.

So you go to a doctor, tell him one of your muscles keeps twitching like crazy and you want to know if it's bad. The doctor's answer: "Drink some more water. It should go away eventually."

And then you, in all your ignorance smile and walk away, already chugging down a bottle of spring water. The twitching still goes on but by then you're so set on drinking water that you try to ignore the newer 'symptoms.' But it doesn't work at all. The twitching gets worse; goes on for days without stopping, to the point that you cover your palms with gloves - even though it's June and the sun is shining brightly that day.

Next, you notice the strange fact that your heartbeat and the beat of the twitching is measured; the same. With each beat comes a twitch, as if they're connected now. You stare and stare - sometimes your eyes blur from staring too long - but the proof before you is gone. The twitch disappears. Or at least, it does for a while.

You, relieved that this small disturbance in your life is gone, continue that sad life. Everything's going good for you - in fact, it's getting better. You don't understand why. You look in the mirror and see a new person too. A new, dazzling appearance like nothing you've ever seen even though you're so sure you looked perfectly normal earlier. You don't question it at all though. What's wrong with a new look? you ask yourself, casually shrugging it off.

But then it starts again; the twitching. And it's not just your hand. Random muscles spasm and you fall to your feet, unable to even control yourself long enough to stand straight. A knock on your door from a startled neighbor catches your attention and then... no more. It's all gone, and you're left staring again in puzzlement. What happened? you ask no one.

Your mind acts on instinct, telling you to go tell a doctor, but by then, you know better. You ignore the doctor's advice - drinking water only works for normal twitches that do go away - and go straight for the Dell laptop you have resting on your bed, determined to find out this mysterious ailment you have - even if it's not an ailment at all. I just like the word, so you might hear me say it a few times.

The first site you go to is Google, seeing as it has a lot of websites on it that MIGHT have the right explanation for as to what's happening to you. Keeping the search small so to get more suggestions, you type down, 'Unstoppable twitch'.

You get a few hits, one that starts with 'Lately when I masturbate, my leg twitches. It is violent and unstoppable...' You look to the next one, already knowing that isn't what you're looking for. The you see it. 'Nervous facial twitches - Neurology - MedHelp.' The title doesn't fit completely but the description below is all you need. An unstoppable twitch that goes on for days.

You click on the subject, glad to see that maybe there's a way to stop it but-

No. The post is up. Someone's face won't stop twitching but there aren't any replies to the subject. There isn't any suggestions on as to what you should do to stop it. Again, you freak, breaths speeding up to be hyperventilation's. But that doesn't stop you from continuing your search. Still determined - if not a little giddy - you type something else.

Nothing works.

Not even after the multitude of websites you've gone through - until a chat window springs up out of no where. The words 'Hello' appear, a smiley set right after it. Unsure of what to do, you reply, 'Hello? Who is this?'

'Someone who might know of your situation.'

The words set your fingers flying, mind racing and thoughts jumbled up into nothing. 'What do you mean might know? Is this happening to you?' You lean forward in your chair, heart racing, the twitches following suit and irritating you. But you don't have the sweet time to let them bother you as much as they usually do.

'No, but I've seen it happen. In fact, I'm the reason it's happening. It's nice to meet a recipient of my virus.'

The words set your muscles into stone. Nothing moves. Even your own heart seems to freeze.

'Feel privileged, as you are one of the first to receive this gift of mine. Only a select few will survive the transformation.'

There's a pause in the chat, long. Suspenseful. What to do, what to do? your mind screams, reeling. You don't know. You can't will your fingers to move, tips of your nails touching the keyboard but not able to type.

'Within a week, I expect you will either live or die. If you live, contact me at this same email. And one thing before I'm done speaking, don't drink water; it isn't going to help you at all.' The chat says offline. Your fingers finally gain control and you type in, 'NO! What do you mean by this?' but it's too late. It's all too late.

You repeat this to yourself for the next week like a mantra, flying through life without a purpose. What's the point, you tell yourself. I'm going to die soon anyway.

The changed keep coming after that. One day, your whole body spasms to the point you cannot move. The next, each and every muscle in your body is so strong, to the point that is looked as if you'd worked out for days without end. The sudden change makes you curious, makes you wonder, Maybe I will survive this. But just in case, you don't stick to the idea. It isn't good to fill the mind with lies. It makes the truth all the more unbearable.

On the seventh day, you sit in your room, curled up in a ball. Waiting... waiting.... Nothing's happened so far, and you feel content with that but not enough to leave the building. Not enough to risk your life in the outside world.

Your laptop bings as you receive a message but you don't answer. Afraid even opening a simple message might set off whatever trigger that's been merciful this whole time. Afraid it might trigger the end for you.

It's the morning of the eighth day. You lie in bed, staring up blankly at the ceiling. This isn't something that you'd expected - living through the week. Maybe the mysterious person from the chat had gotten it wrong; maybe he'd just been messing with you. You don't know and you don't want to. Like the saying goes, Ignorance is bliss.

Standing up, you stretch, reaching out for nothing. Then you wait. Focus on your body. Surprisingly, nothing happens. The twitch is gone. It brings a smile to your lips - something you hadn't done in the past month with the ailment you'd been experiencing. Then you test your muscles by walking around the room, a burst of laughter escaping you at the sudden energy you feel.

A bing from your laptop makes you jump. You remember the message you'd received the day before, having gone ignored because of the dreadful though of death. And yet now, you don't even care. Yesterdays ordeals felt foolish now, like a waste of time. You open the fully charged laptop, and find two new messages, both from the same person.

You choose the first one - from yesterday - and read with interest.

How is your last day going? I'd like to know this, just before you die - in case you do. You see, at the moment, you are the only one with my virus that I've been able to contact and that is very important, for I have a message you must give to any others you meet. I will not send you it today, as you might very well be dead already. But do know that tomorrow, seven thirty AM, I will be sending you another message.

You look to your alarm clock. There it says it. Seven thirty-five. This person must be serious. Or he's probably just seriously deranged. Either way, you give into the temptation and open the next message, thinking to yourself, What could possible go wrong?

Oh, what a stupid thing it was of you to think that.