Too Little Too Late Part One- Spring Cleaning

Too Little,Too Late Part 1: Spring Cleaning

Sweat rushed down his temples, an Angel Falls of salty exocrine secretion. He was urged with an almighty power to tear the suit off and scratch his unbearably itchy neck. But he knew doing such would result in much worse trouble than the discomfort he was currently experiencing. As a child, he had wished to become a big league baseball player. Every single day he would dash straight from Herman Elementary to Oz Park. There, the biggest, the best, the most athletic kids in the whole school would play ball, practicing for the next big game. Of course, he was never allowed to play. He was always too short, too young, too chubby, too slow, too weak. They never outright insulted him, but he knew a thing or two about taking hints. And everyday as he would run to the park to watch, he would hope with all of his heart that they would be waiting for him and sing "Hey Kenny, you wanna bat first?" Yet day after day, they never even noticed him. His grades were never the greatest, but they managed him into Oklahoma State. And now, here he was, a glorified janitor risking his life constantly. His weapon of choice, his swiffer-like mop of course. The virus had hit the states just 2 months before. Now with the nation on lockdown and deep cleanings being required everywhere where anyone had been, his time with the CDC had become a lot more interesting, while still seeming extraordinarily mundane. He knew there should be order in the way he swept his mop this way and that along the floor, but there was no rhyme or reason to his system. If there was a spot he had noticeably missed, he would go back and clean it. This was his first actual cleaning. He had been called to a few other schools, but had just waited outside, helping to organize supplies. On the inside, he now realized, he was on an isolated island, just him and on his mop. Everyone else was on track in their own assigned hallway. They had to work like this to increase speed, order, and efficiency. The less time in the infected area, the better. Suddenly a greenish yellow haze appeared a few feet ahead of him. It was a foggy, yet mystical serpent slinking through halls of this barren wasteland. His first thought was that he was hallucinating. This frame of mind continued until the gas slunk towards him surrounding him like a pack of hungry animals, waiting for dinner to be served. The fog oozed straight through his mask, smothering his senses. He coughed once. Then twice, soon entering a hysteric fit of wheezing to no end. The ends of his vision began to fry, turning pitch black. His lungs emptied and filled, but felt as if they were being weighed down by thousand pound weights. There was no escaping this. His last bit of brain power focused on his two, 4 month old kittens waiting at home. Who would feed them? "Help," he cried. His signal of distress meant nothing however, as every single other being in that building were knocking at death's door. Finally, the lights went out. It never crossed one of the victim's minds who would have done this to them. The CDC had an answer. The tragedy at Babe Ruth Middle School was caused by a lethal gas leak, leaving no survivors of course.