Page 5 of Neon Pestilence
A cough on my left catches my attention. It’s not a cough from drugs or lack of oxygen; it’s something deeper than that, morewrong. I glance over, my bird mask hiding my face.
The patient in front of me continues to dance, losing themselves in the moment. It’s almost laughable. Their oblivious nature, the way they trust their environment so deeply.
Hallow Lands is cursed to fester, and I’m cursed to cure it.
I work quickly, pulling out a clear vial from my worn leather bag. My gloved fingers flick at the top of the glass until it cracks off, leaving an open bottle pressed between my thumb and forefinger.
Inside is a dark, viscous fluid. Yellow, like a burnt sunflower. And the smell, oh the smell, like acid and anger. It burns my nose as I take a whiff, filling my lungs with its essence.
The humors don’t work on me the way they do patients; maybe it’s because I created them, or maybe it’s because I’ve become immune to their symptoms. Either way, I’m not complaining.
I move quickly, wrapping my arm around the waist of the man. He smiles up at me, eyes wide from whatever drugs he’s rolling on. Unfiltered happiness…disgusting. I lean in, feigning something more intimate, more special. He matches my movements, the bass and screams of other patients surrounding us, creating the perfect moment.
I smile back, though I know he can’t see it, and begin to glide my fingers up his chest. He shivers under my hands before closing his eyes and leaning his head back. I’m behind him within seconds, moving my hand to cup his chin. The hand holding the vial twists as it flies into the side of his throat, broken side first. Warm crimson streams out of the hole as he looks up at me, eyes wide and shock splattered across his face.
I watch, hopeful, as the humor makes its way into his system. His mouth opens and closes, blood still falling around us like a macabre waterfall. Within seconds, he’s been filled with the yellow substance.
I smile to myself.
This one seems to be taking it well.
But then, his mouth starts to foam, his body spasming. I sigh to myself and guide him to the floor.
The body continues to convulse below me, shaking like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. I rise to my feet again, and the yellow foam continues to pour out of his mouth, forming a puddle on the ground below him.
Patients around me continue to dance, so fueled on drugs that they don’t even notice the life draining from the body below them.Useless.
I tilt my head to the side, watching as the tormented soul takes his last breaths. His eyes are wide in fear, staring up at me like he’s seen God.
Perhaps he has. His very own savior stitched into the shadows of death.
I turn away, knowing my job is done here, and start to make my way to the main stage. The other patients are none the wiser to the undead body within their midst. Them being strung up on drugs and alcohol for the weekend allows me to do my work in peace, especially when the majority of the drugs being passed around are of my own creation.
I call itEuphorium.It’s a psychoactive drug that sends anyone who takes it into a blissful, euphoric-like state. Hence the name.
I remember the day as if it just happened.
Chapter 5
The Doctor
56 Years Ago
Iroll my eyes at the short, blonde twirling around me as I tinker with the frayed leather hanging from my gloves.
“Comeeeee onnnnnn,” she drawls. “Dance with me.” Music surrounds us, guitar notes dancing through the air. The smooth and silky voice of Janice Joplin singing Ball and Chain fills my soul. But it doesn’t matter.
Music doesn’t feel the same as it did two hundred years ago. I guess living for centuries has its drawbacks. Everything just sounds the same. Like a broken soul lost and trying to find itself. Just empty.
You need to do it.
The voice of my handler breaks me away from my thoughts. Flowing through me like an omen, only spoken to me. I sigh tomyself as I rise to my feet. They’re getting hasty again, foaming at the mouth to see if my new creation actually works.
I’ve spent the last one hundred and thirty-seven years perfecting it, so it fucking better.
Body after body has been disposed of, tablet after powder, yielding no results. But I have a good feeling about this time; it has to work. The pestilence needs to be contained. And according to The Handler, I’m the only one who can do it this time.
I move alongside the woman in front of me. Sherry, Sherryl, Shay… something with an ‘S’ I think.
