Work Text:
I sit in the cafe, letting the gentle conversations around the room wash over me. I sip my coffee, plain black and bitter. I don't wince at the taste or heat of it. The caffeine sends a pleasant buzz to my head, keeping me awake. I let my gaze wander, settling on a woman, alone.
As soon as I see her, I move my gaze. She has the Rot, it's as obvious as the sun outside the window. The way she's sitting separate, not just alone. The way people don't let their eyes settle on her, skipping over her to look through their periphery.
She looks ordinary, her skin unmarred. Still, she covers herself anyway. As if clothing alone can keep the dangerous disease in her blood from us. As if it is enough to restrain her when she chooses to stop fighting it and hurt us.
I move on from the woman, she doesn't deserve my attention for longer than needed. Distantly, a radio crackles gently with static, overlaying the voice coming from it. "Our sources say that the Rot has infected up to thirty percent of the population. In brighter news," the reporter on the other side, a man by the sound of it, speaks as if thirty percent is a smaller margin than it is. I stop listening after that.
Thirty percent is enough to take over the country. I finish my coffee and leave. I can't stand to sit in a place with someone infected with the Rot. I toss my cup into a trashcan, and walk down the street. I pass men and women on their way to their destinations.
I enter work, my workplace, drab jobs to be done for a day and then leave. I like this job, the work is not hard, I can do it alone. As long as I keep at it, I may be awarded. It may be tedious, but I can use the time to think. Once I finish, I decide to walk home using my usual path.
As I walk, I see another with the Rot. A man, arguing with someone. I watch as the man gets pushed. I turn, it's not my place to interfere. The walk is uneventful. I watch the sky and the trees idly. Clouds pass by lazily. On my street, I see the woman from before. The one with the Rot.
She's in the grass of a yard. I see her pulling plants out of the earth. I squint. No one is around to see this. I stop my walking, staring at her. As she stands, she finds me. The woman jumps and runs into the house. It must be hers, then. A pity that a house in this nice neighborhood is infected with her.
I silently unlock my door, opening it to the small place I call home. The house is quiet, no one around. I turn the light on and make myself something to eat. I eat alone. I spend the rest of my time reading.
The book I read now is a story about a world without the Rot. I've dealt with it for so long, that I struggle to imagine it. This author though, writes something out I can barely fathom. I enjoy the descriptions, and the imagery let's me imagine it. It's wonderful.
I pause my reading once it gets dark. I put my bookmark back in and begin to prepare myself for bed. I stand at the mirror, brushing my teeth. Then, something catches my eyes in the mirror. On my right hand is something I didn't think I'd see.
The Rot. I know it immediately as I see it. I drop my toothbrush, spitting the toothpaste out and staring down at my arms. It covers them. I check my legs, over them as well, and my back and neck. I cannot fathom it. How I didn't notice it, I do not know.
I stumble, my feet struggling to find purchase. Finally, I can pull myself forward and out of the bathroom. I burst into the kitchen. I see my goal. The block of knives. I grab one of the knives and run, back to the mirror. I keep the door open as I sit on the toilet, hands trembling.
I keep my knives sharp, so it glides through my flesh easily. I guide it through my leg, cutting out the Rot. I need it gone, I cannot keep this. Pain flares up, my nerves rebelling against me. I ignore it. Pain can only slow me down. Skin, flesh, bone. All infected by the Rot, the infection that has plagued us all.
Spots on my legs, my stomach, on my arms. I struggle to the mirror, looking at my neck. My arms are steady now, the stench of blood grounding me, even as my warmth leeches out. I watch as my arms cut open the side of my neck. The knife covered just to the hilt in blood and Rot.
It cuts around the flesh, then the Rot falls free. Had it stayed, it would have infected my brain. That would end even worse. I look at my body, hands and legs and neck with holes still leaking. I limp over to the cabinet. My first aid kit is there. I grab the kit and take the bandages. I wrap my wounds. It only hurts some, even as I add my antiseptic.
The bandages are set into place, blood still leaking. Covered in stains, I gaze down at my flesh, the refuse of my Rot infection. I grab a bag. I need to dispose of it. I gather it, using gloves to keep myself safe. I grab gasoline and open my back door.
I dump the refuse out. Cover them in gasoline. I take a match, and strike it. Fire burns at my bandaged fingertips. I toss it. The refuse burns, pops and sparks and sizzles. It smells like cooked meat. Then smoke. I don't let it go out until I know that it has all burned to ash.
I stop adding gasoline once I know it's gone. The fire burns itself out soon enough. I stand, recognizing the darkness fading in. I enter my house, calmer than I have been in a long time. I relax into bed, covering myself under the thin blanket. I sleep easily, letting the waves of the night take me deeper.