Cold sun flashed through glass windows, and the world zoomed by. Headlines rolled across my feet. Advertisements begged for my eyes. Tension hummed through steel bars as hands clenched together, hoping to be released. Vibrations rattled the floor, and plastic seats pressed against my back. And I lurched forward.
My hand touched the passenger beside me. A look of fear echoed in their gaze, but a blink of an eye turned their attention away. Tension pulled at thin lips, and a small growl of a throat being cleared warned me to stay away. And I sat back, folding my hands in my lap.
“Sector Zero. Next stop,” the carrier’s voice rang out.
“Sector Zero. Next stop,” the carrier’s voice rang out.
His tone was hollow, cold as the sun. If I were to look into his eyes, what would I see? Fear? Hate? Despair, or would hope still flicker beyond his dark oblivion? And would he see me as a person not as the contagion?
By law, I was ordered to wear my badge. It looked more like a yellow stain. I was in the first stages of the disease, and as my condition would advance, then I would be forced to wear red. And then I would be prohibited from public places. I wouldn’t be able to work. I wouldn’t be able to live in residential areas, and this train ride would come to a swift end. And mine would rest across the black mark on my back, dead man walking, but I have outlived most contagions. Maybe I was lucky, but there was no such thing in today’s world.
By law, I was ordered to wear my badge. It looked more like a yellow stain. I was in the first stages of the disease, and as my condition would advance, then I would be forced to wear red. And then I would be prohibited from public places. I wouldn’t be able to work. I wouldn’t be able to live in residential areas, and this train ride would come to a swift end. And mine would rest across the black mark on my back, dead man walking, but I have outlived most contagions. Maybe I was lucky, but there was no such thing in today’s world.
They looked like porcelain dolls, passengers hoping not to break. Their fingers dug into their hands with anxiety. Cloth masks covered their mouths and noses, and their eyes held to the floor. But they knew that I was there, watching, and they knew that I could’ve been them. And my ride came to a screeching halt.
I used to be greeted at work. People would hang out at my cubicle and crack jokes. The boss would stop by often and give me a word of praise. I could eat in the lunch room without the whispers and glares, but not anymore. Now, I was the walking dead. I used to lean back in my chair and enjoy the food that touched my mouth. I would be surrounded by friends, co-workers. They would talk of their highlights and troubles, but nobody talks anymore. Nobody looks at one another with respect, admiration but fear. Distrust is their weight to bear because anyone could be or would be a contagion, and they would have to say good-bye. And it was hard enough letting go, but what if it were you to give up this life? I can’t.
I’m not supposed to be here, but what am I supposed to do? Go home? Tuck myself away, and wait for my days to end? This is not how I wanted to end my life. I had dreams, goals, and I was soaring high until I came crashing down. It took one day to tear me apart, and here I sit, alone.
I remember the days before this. People struggled with loved ones dying with Cancer or Alzheimer’s. Nobody knew what to do, but they didn’t want to say good-bye. They didn’t want to let them go, and they did everything to keep them alive, keep them here. And then we found the cure. Stem cell research helped eradicate every single disease that broke our hearts and left us cold with death, but then came controversy. People feared overpopulation, and violence rose, cutting down more numbers. And then the contagion arrived.
I remember the days before this. People struggled with loved ones dying with Cancer or Alzheimer’s. Nobody knew what to do, but they didn’t want to say good-bye. They didn’t want to let them go, and they did everything to keep them alive, keep them here. And then we found the cure. Stem cell research helped eradicate every single disease that broke our hearts and left us cold with death, but then came controversy. People feared overpopulation, and violence rose, cutting down more numbers. And then the contagion arrived.
Some called it nature’s doing. She was trying to correct her imbalance. We were not supposed to grow in the numbers that advanced after the cure, but others thought different. And they disappeared quickly, but why was I chosen? All I wanted was a normal life, but I’ll be lucky to make it to forty-five.
The worst thing about this contagion is that it is spontaneous. You could be healthy one moment and dead the next. It was unselective. Children and the elderly were as prone to it as those that kept in shape, perfect health. A single cough could contaminate millions or no one at all. There was no cure, no origin, and no place to go, and it solved the overpopulation problem. And it could end the human equation, but I hope that extinction won’t be the final result. But hope seems to dwindle, disappear with each passing day.
Was this what was waiting for us, if we healed the world, the sick? Are we supposed to suffer? How long must disease lay claim to this world? Why can’t we just live in peace, or does our violent nature pull the chords to our destruction? I have no answers. This is a war that can’t be won, at least not today, and my days are going fast. And if or when a breakthrough arrives, I won’t be here to see it, but I hope that it arrives. And I hope that a better world lies beyond this dark horizon.
“Now leaving Sector Zero,” the carrier’s voice rang out.
“Now leaving Sector Zero,” the carrier’s voice rang out.
By Melissa R. Mendelson
