My body is shaking. I can't stop coughing. The pressure in the atmosphere that used to be my salvation is now haunting me with every hard-won breath.
I thought I was one of the Clean. I was just a pawn. A vehicle for the Doctor. (Hi, Doc.) Hundreds of thousands die every day because of me. These unworldly horrors from beyond are coming out of the woodwork, tearing up the remains left by the dead.
Mrs. K. remains unaffected by this terrible disease. She devotes her days to taking care of unfortunate souls like me. Every time she comes in I apologize for my actions. Every time she smiles and pats my hand. She truly is one of the Clean. She has the pureness of soul I thought I alone possessed.
She tells me stories of the world outside my apartment. There is a wooden woman who wraps strings of control around the hearts of folks in Russia and Eastern Europe. Fires light the skies of West Africa. Carnival-goers in Brazil explode into mad frenzies of lust that end in death and dismemberment. A thin man stalks the East coast while cults madly worship the risen dead on the West Coast. A creature of gears and flesh eats the bones of Detroit. The window of my bedroom is coated in frost and my apartment seems warm in comparison to the outside. And there is more. So much more. Because of me.
I can't get up from my bed anymore. I know my time is limited.
Hi, Doc.
It hurts to breathe.
Can you take the pain away?
I don't want to think about all those bodies being burned in the streets any more. Make the pain go away, please.
I'm sorry I wasn't good enough.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Help me, Doctor.
