Eden Everlasting

Chapter 1

I didn't expect to live for much longer. As of today it had been six months since I was stricken with Moon Sickness. Already I had outlived a majority with similar symptoms, though that doesn't necessarily mean I will continue to do so. I am currently bedridden with only the occasional nurse who would change my oxygen tank to keep me company. No one comes to visit. I cannot talk for fear of suffocating myself due to lack of oxygen. I truly am alone. Tomorrow is the harvest, my favorite festival of the year. There are bonfires,dancing, storytelling, prayers and feasts. My eyes welled up with tears at the thought that I would never experience the joy of the harvest festival again. The hot tears warmed my cold skin and my quiet sobs fogged the clear oxygen mask I wore. Soon my cries turned into violent sobs, my lungs demanding for more air than I could gather in a single breath. The muscles spasms pushed the much needed oxygen out of my system, leaving me unable to breathe. My useless mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. I panicked. I couldn't suck in air fast enough. The nurses and doctors rushed in and injected yet another dose of the silvery-blue liquid into my lungs. The large needle entering my abodomen and piercing the soft sensitive tissue of my lungs was so painful that I passed out.

The familiar groggy feeling when my eyes opened once more greeted me. It was calming, warm, and peaceful. Krilnox wasn't a cure, unfortunately. There was no cure. It is merely a sedative that calms me enough to let my lungs work on their own. It worked short-term but eventually I would need it again as a side-effect of the vaccine was anxiety. Naturally, this kept me in a constant cycle of needing the vaccine. I would die without it and I will die with it. My vision took its time clearing. It was dark around me with only a dim light coming from the curtained window beside my bed. I looked around. Everyone else in the room was asleep save for one person: a priestess, marked by her shaven head. She stood over another patient whom was covered by a vermillion satin cloth. Her hands were hovering over the body, level with her closed eyes as she chanted. Beatus vir qui timet deum. Beatus vir qui noverit momentum paenitentiam. Accipio iterum redeat ad latus tuum. Doluimus, sed manere. Her soft, low voice carried through the otherwise silent room. A chill ran up my spine. The death rite. The priestess was alone. The deceased must not have had any close family or friends left. It seemed quite sad to die alone like that. I swalled hard, my dark throat protesting. I was in the same boat. I wonder when the same words will be said over my dead body.