'The Virus' - A True Pandemic

4

Samuel Jacob Colsen was an army veteran. He did two tours in Iraq until he damaged his right leg and the army had to finally let him go. He wasn't happy about it, not at all. He kept insisting to be taken back; he kept saying that there was still a lot more juice left in him. Alas, he was let go of. His mental conditions were constantly deteriorating and the army thought best to just leave him be. Hence, he retired and decided it was time to go back home and live the rest of his life in serenity and peace. 

Now, as he used the drill machine from his tool kit to drill a hole in his wife's right eye he wondered, he wondered why he ever left the army. The blood sprouted from her right eye like a fountain and sprinkled all over Samuel's face and fresh new clothes. Some of it, he could taste, even went into his mouth - which was wide open in sheer joy and hysteric. Surprisingly, the taste of fresh blood rejuvenated the teenage bully in him and he drilled harder than before; wooing and yelling and celebrating his effort; after all, drilling through a human skull did require quite a bit of energy and effort. 

He was as jolly and elated as a kid in a mall, running into every other shop and pleading his mommy to buy him a bunch load of candy so that he could feel that sugar rush and be satisfied. 

Samuel's wife's screams were stifled due to the noise emanating from the drill machine - as if the machine itself was just as excited to excavate into the woman's skull as the person using it. After a few seconds, when the drill bit had punctured through her skull and had exited from the other side dripping with fresh blood, his wife stopped moving and lay silently on the floor - dead.  

Samuel jerked the drill bit out of the freshly excavated skull and smelled his wife's blood like a dog smelling a scent before a hunt. 

He felt intoxicated - like the blood was his reward for all the hard work and 'drilling' he had just done. 

But that wasn't enough. He didn't feel content. He wanted more. He hungered for more. 

Looking down at the mutilated corpse of his wife, he felt disgusted. Not at what he had done, but at the kind of person his wife was. Always yelling at him, telling him what to do and what not to do, pleading to him to get out of the house and make something of his miserable life or he would too die like his father, alone and unloved. 

"Who's dead now, huh?" and he spat on her corpse like he used to spit on the enemy in Iraq.

Covered in brain tissue with the drill still in his hand dripping with fresh blood, Samuel Jacob Colsen stepped out of his house after a week to satisfy his new growing hunger. 

It had been exactly fourteen days since he was infected. 

***       

Maria Walter had always been a troubled person. But she had never been so troubled as she was right now. She felt like she was scattered all around the place - as if someone had stuffed a bomb in her throat and she had exploded into a million pieces that were now spread across the entire town. 

Simultaneously, in a single nasueautic wave focused completely on her, everything hit her at once: the noise, the feelings, the emptiness...everything! 

She felt more infuriated and overwhelmed than she ever had. 

She was drenched in sweat, lying around in a pool of her own vomit, and there was no one around to help her - guess she didn't count this part in when she decided to shift into her own apartment without any roommate. 

This had never happened before. In all her troublesome childhood, all those times when she had those suicidal tendencies inviting her to jump off that roof, or to walk up in front of that monster of a bus, or to peel off her skin...she had never ever faced anything of this magnitude. 

It was more than any single person could handle. 

What petrified her was the suddenness with which it had struck. She had just picked up her cup of coffee when the first wave hit her. At first, she thought it was a simple case of migraine - she was overworked and worn out, no doubt - but then it had happened again and immediately, on its own accord, she had puked her breakfast and lunch all out, garnishing her new rug with pieces of chicken and chips covered in phlegm and saliva. Immediately then she had lost control over her body and had collapsed face-first into her own vomit. She would have yelled out in disgust and would have had a tantrum if only she weren't feeling the way she was feeling right now. 

Another wave of nausea, another punch in the stomach, and some more of her lunch forcefully exiting her body and further painting the rug with different colors. But this time it wasn't just puke, it was blood. 

The scene didn't just revolt her but outright horrified her. 

Why was she puking blood? What was wrong with her? 

The banging, horning, screaming, all of the sounds rampaging within her head increased in decibel. She was prepared for another round of unconsciousness and puking of blood. 

But then something else happened. Something that hadn't happened in a long time. 

Her eyes drifted towards the lampstand resting only a few inches away from her. 

And all of a sudden it all came back... 

She wasn't sure if it was due to her current situation or whether it was actually happening, but she saw the lampstand calling out to her - with hands. Literally, calling out to her, begging her to come, to pick it up, to caress it with her hands, to take care of it and never let her go. 

What was even weird was that it broke her heart not to be able to pick it up and do what it wanted her to do. 

The voices in her head and all the different sounds echoing in her skull all at once increased. Her face was now as red as a tomato and she could feel her nerves pricking out on her neck trying to refrain the magnitude and pressure of the tornado occurring within her head. 

And then her eyes caught the lampstand again - resting where it was, patiently calling out to her and waiting for her. 

She just wanted it to stop. She wanted to be left alone - 

The lampstand, untouched, sitting, waiting - 

Unknowingly, she pushed herself towards the lamp. Only when the lampstand was finally in her hands and the first blow on her skull had been inflicted and fresh warm blood trickled down her face, eyes, and cheeks did she realize what she had done. 

But now it was too late to stop. She didn't have control over her body anymore. 

With fierce power and energy, she again bashed her skull using the lampstand and the rug - already covered with snot, spit, pieces of chicken and phlegm - was now painted with blood and brain matter and human tissue.  

The noises inside Maria Walter's head stopped. She no longer felt nauseated or weak or queasy. In fact, she didn't feel anything at all - not even the pumping of her silent heart. Everything was utterly quiet and static...

Maria Walter, too, was infected with the virus fourteen days before when she shook hands with that waitress in her favorite restaurant. 

***

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