Infected Female: Morgan S. Keller

I cupped my face in my hands as I stared into the mirror. I glared at my reflection, my bathroom light flickering, hurting my sensitive eyes. I studied the weathered lines across my forehead and mouth. Anger made my stomach warm, spreading throughout my body, to the tips of my fingers and toes. I struggled to find a tangible difference in my appearance, and yet there was nothing explainable, nothing I could notice without sounding a complete lunatic. There was something different, but I didn’t know what. I scratched my burning skin, blinking my dry eyes furiously and swallowing at the thickness in my throat.

I could say that my eyes had been lighter, or greener. But they still looked the same as they did in pictures. There was nothing anyone could look at me and say I’d changed. My hair was cropped short, but just long enough to hang in my eyes, sticking in my eyelashes. I shook my head vigorously, trying to see clearer if possible. I pulled my lips back to inspect my teeth. Slightly crooked and stained from years of smoking. I twitched slightly as a sharp pain shot through my spine.

I straightened from leaning on the sink, looking away from myself and around the bathroom, trying to locate a particularly annoying sound. I didn’t know who I was anymore; I didn’t know what was happening to me; even if no one could tell I was changing, I was. Something was rapidly changing inside of me, and it felt wrong. I still wore the same skin apparently, that hadn’t changed, but that was the only thing. I felt dirty and worthless, like I’d done something terribly wrong; and it never ceased, always ongoing and nagging at my mind. The feeling stayed with me, no matter how hard I tried to shake it off.

I didn’t understand, because the harder I try, the farther it slips out of my hand. It isn’t normal or natural. I couldn’t fix a problem if I didn’t know what the problem was. When I tried to sleep, I wake up never too long later, sweating and panting, even though I can never remember why. Like anyone would, I wanted it to end. I spent hour after hour pacing, staring at the walls; just thinking and trying to piece things together.

I had nothing but time, because everyday was exactly the same, second by second, minute by minute. It had never bothered me before, but now it seemed totally useless and utterly caging. The more I spent locked away in my dumpy little apartment, the more I thought, I felt as if I was trapped. My job was really all I had, and when I lost it, there was nothing to do other than sit and think. It was a hollow shell of a reminder just how pointless everything had been. I’d never once stepped out of the set line of society, not for good or bad. I was just there, like so many other people, and then it just started bothering me. At first I’d tried to ignore it and continue with things, what little of my life I still had. I became so irritable that I couldn’t bring myself near people anymore, I couldn’t stand them. Loud, selfish, thoughtless; they were all the same. I couldn’t find any uniqueness at all, not one person. All I could do was sit and stare at nothing all day while the entire world buzzed around me. My stomach knotted at the idea, and bit into my cheek until I tasted blood.

I looked down at the scars on my arm; red, upraised and uneven. They still looked brand-new. It bothered me a lot, sometimes waking me during the night. It was sensitive to the touch. It was one of the few scars I had. Compared to the other small marks, the scar was gruesome and brutal. His teeth were sharp when they sunk into my skin, tearing down to the bone. No matter how hard I’d tore at his hair or clawed his face, he wouldn’t let go. I nearly passed out as three nurses beat him off. I had sixteen stitches.

For several months afterward, I felt lethargic and was prone terrible headaches. It made me irritable, snapping over small, stupid things and losing my head over the bigger ones. I wasn’t like me. A sympathetic tone would agitate me, and when someone touched me I’d jerk. Then the way someone moved, or talked, or even looked at me was all it would take. If someone so much as glanced at me, I was painfully aware of the heavy feeling.

I was fired from my job after I nearly beat a coworker’s face in. I’d done something akin to assaulting someone. I did everything I could to try and make myself well again. I saw doctors, I took medicines, but they never helped. It only made me angrier. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t be helped. I barely left my apartment afterward, staying in bed and watching TV all day, uncertain of what was happening and not trusting myself to lose my head in public again. Unlike they’d ever been, things were always painfully in focus. A woman’s perfume from across the room could make my stomach knot, smelling strongly of chemicals. I could nearly see in the dark, and hear the couple four levels up in the middle of the night. Even my sense of touch was hypersensitive, making everything seem unfamiliar.

My attention wanders constantly because I try to focus on several things at once. I can hardly keep from jerking my head towards loud noises, making it hard to pay attention when someone is talking to me. Its taken time to calm the restless nerves that are always standing on end. I always feel the need to move, feeling cramped and overwhelmed all at the same time, not enough space one second, too much the next. I couldn’t control myself, not for long and certainly not forever.

I’d never felt so helpless and alone before, like being surrounding by black water, with a constant pressure on my skull. I could never quite escape the feeling. I haven’t killed anyone, and I’d like to believe I won’t, but there’s no way of being sure of that. Every moral I’ve ever learned and lived by tells me firmly that its wrong, while another part of my brain is begging me to find something to take my anger out on. I think it’s only a matter of time before the water finds a crack and leaks into my head, so it can suffocate my brain, too.

I flushed bright red as pain twisting in my left leg, and I clenched my jaw again it. I couldn’t stop myself from shaking with anxiety. My skin was hot and slick and my palms were slimy. I wanted to forget it had ever happened, and return to my life, go back to work and keep up with things. I moaned slightly and lowered my head as pain pulsed throughout my skull like a radiating wave of heat. I gritted my teeth and shook my head hard against the sensation of someone sticking their hand in my head and gripping my brain between their fingers. That’s really the only way to describe it. Frustrated, I clenched my fist and smashed it through my mirror.

The glass cracked, making a horrible racket. My blood pounded through my ears. My hand shook as I withdrew it, stinging and pulsating as blood dripped down my wrist. I inspected my hand briefly, and all I had were shallow cuts. The red fluid dripped down my arm and onto the floor as I regained some composure to straighten my back. I dropped my hand at my side carelessly, and wandered out of the bathroom to stand in the center of my living room. I suddenly felt tired, just like that, and my brain fogged up. I shut my eyes, thinking back a bit.

A few months ago, a pigeon landed on my windowsill, bright orange eyes staring at me blankly as it shit all over the place. I went to the window and opened it, prepared to swat it away. I waved my hands at it, but it merely stepped away to avoid me instead of flying off. Annoyed, I wrapped both hands around it, and was going to throw it out the window as it began struggling, its tiny heart thumping softly against one of my fingertips.

Without thinking, I began to squeeze, crushing it slowly and watching it morbidly as felt its wings twitched helplessly. I stared at the bird without much emotion, unsure of what I was expecting. I felt its bones give in to my hand, caving in as its body went rigid in a final stretch, and then totally limp, its head lolling limply over my index finger. I tossed it out, and it fell on someone else’s balcony. Afterward, I went on with my business as if it had never happened.

I drug my feet to my chair, and fell into it. I let out a heavy sigh, and rested my bloodied hand on the armrest. I leaned forward, cradling my head in my left palm. Painkillers never worked, no matter how many I took. I inhaled deeply and expelled the air through my nose. I could hear everything, suddenly aware of the world again in my briefly sidetracked state of mind. The cars outside, the sounds upstairs, the angry bellow downstairs, the drip of water from a bathroom faucet exactly six doors down, the snore of the landlord in the lobby; everything that went on in the building. I could smell perfume still clinging to the chair I was in, the solvent used to clean the tile floors, the wood of a oak coffee table two levels up, exhaust from the cars on the street, and of course, my blood.

I glanced to my hand through the holes between my fingers. Blood smeared the chair with red, and the cuts in my hand allowed a thin trickle when I twitched my fingers. I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my forehead on my knees, closing my eyes and concentrating on the blackness of the room, ignoring the bathroom light, which was still flickering light from beyond the door. I just listened to the sounds and inhaled the smells, waiting until the pain passed.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my body aching all over. My back and neck were stiff, and my fingers and toes were completely numb. I stumbled to my bathroom and cranked the hot water on, rubbing at my stinging eyes. I sat on the toilet seat and waited until the shower began to steam before I undressed and stepped into the hot spray. I let out a low hiss of satisfaction as the scalding water pelted my back. I stood completely still for several long minutes, taking long pauses before drawing in deep breathes of the steamy air. The piping water dampened every smell and sound drifting into my apartment room, giving me sanctuary. I washed myself thoroughly with the water-diluted soaps, scrubbing my skin until I was pink all over, cleaning away sticky sweet.

I turned off the water reluctantly, leaning against the tile wall. Water dripped from my hair and slid down my face, running into my eyes. I licked my lips, catching a droplet that had slid down my cheek. I stared intently at the shower floor, watching the water drain. I sat down and wrapped my arms around myself, looking down at my wounded hand. It was raw and sore. The soap had stung, but I’d barely paid any attention. I shut my eyes and rested my chin on my knees. I had no intentions of getting up anytime soon.

I didn’t enjoy getting a firsthand experience in other people’s lives, listening to their business and what not. And there was no real way to block it out completely. This was as close as I ever came. If you can imagine, it’s like someone screaming at the top of their longs in your face, constantly, and never stopping.

Then my stomach clenched, pain wrapping tightly around the muscles. I jumped to my feet and dropped to my knees, vomiting into the toilet. I choked and gasped, spitting, leaning on my counter for support. The heat was as horrible as ever as it coursed through me, and suddenly I was leaning back over the toilet again. My eyes began to water from the stench and I limply stood up, flushing the toilet and stumbling out of the bathroom. I barely managed to get my clothes on before I collapsed onto my messy bed and passed out.

I woke up late in the day, warm orange light spilling in through the one uncovered window in my living room. I stared at it for a long time, trying to determine how slow the sun seemed to be setting judging the angle of the beams. Getting to my feet, I went to stand in front of it, letting the soothing warmth touch my mostly bare skin, seeing a few dark clouds overhanging. Several cars drove up and down the street, people crowding the sidewalks. I rubbed the pads of my index finger and thumb together softly as I studied them with no particular inflection. I went to sit in my chair again for a long while, just thinking, feeling tired. My stomach started to growl, and when I stood up to look through my fridge, it was damn near bare. I waited a while, until the lights of the city began to flick on outside. My stomach was aching by then, and I finally resolved that I’d have to go out to buy something to eat.

In a lose shirt and pair of pants, I hurriedly stepped out of my door, pulling it shut quickly behind me. I stuffed my hands in my full pockets, tensed up my shoulders and walked down the emptying sidewalk. I went to the nearest convenient store, keeping a swift pace. I avoided close contact with people as best I could, and nearly jumped out of my skin when a car honked its horn, but was otherwise unperturbed. I walked into the store with my head down, found what I needed and was gone quickly. My mind was pleasantly blank and untroubled as I moved along.

It was fully dark outside as I went home, most people in taxis rather than on the sidewalks by then. As the plastic of the bags cut into my fingers, I could hear police sirens up ahead of me, the sound making me skittish. It was loud and frantic; a place where several people were sure to be. I turned onto another road on impulse, not knowing whether it’d get me back to my apartment or not. I scowled deeply. I couldn’t help but feel that my near normal trip had been ruined. The noise had me tensed up and nervous, leaving me with an anxious twitch in my muscles.

I walked faster than before, not bothering to be subtle in my haste, letting it all fade into the distance. I shifted the bags in my hands as my finger tips turned rosy red from lack of circulation. I continued walking for a long while, turning on different streets without thinking, just trying to escape the sirens more than anything. I licked my lips and glanced around me briefly, not recognizing my surroundings and realized that I’d strayed completely from any known route. I passed by several old buildings and worn down places. People stared at me openly, making me tense up, but for some odd reason, I felt no particular emotion. I kept my eyes down, breathing shallowly through my mouth.

I grew slightly anxious, the distinct feeling that something very bad was going to happen flashing a warning signal in my head. I knew I needed to get far away, and very soon if I wanted to avoid it. No matter how fast I would’ve been able to run, though, I couldn’t escape the inevitable. Something was very wrong inside me, starting from the pit of my stomach and working its way through. At first, it wasn’t painful, just unfamiliar and strange. A distinct and persistent feeling, I was able to ignore it or push it into another corner of my mind.

I nearly ran out onto to the busy street, shaking all over. I kept my eyes focused on he stoplight carefully, begging it to turn red as something across the street caught my eye. A man walking down the street, his hands behind his back, brown hair slicked back, stubble on his chin and covering most of his throat. My attention pivoted on him almost immediately, my entire body tensing up like I was seeing an old enemy rather than a complete stranger. It could have been anyone, really, from the woman standing next to me, the man behind me, the jogger about twenty feet back, but it was him. I’d like to believe he was really a good person, despite what I’d first seen of him.

With a smug expression plastered over his face, I watched as he stopped to talk to a prostitute strutting down the sidewalk. They walked off toward a rundown hotel nearby, easily in my line of sight. Without the slightest emotion or conscious thought, I watched him. No anger, contempt, sadness or bloodlust of any kind could be directed at him from me. I couldn’t have formed an opinion of him even if I’d wanted to. I stared at him for a long time, standing perfectly still as he and his purchase disappeared into a room. Several light cycles passed before I moved and began walking steadily across the street. I couldn’t even look away from the door.

I set my plastic bags of food on a bench along the way, and sauntered into the nearly empty parking lot of the Housely Inn. I vaguely remember the sound of my feet scraping the wet asphalt as I went, the oily feel of the iron bar railing as I climbed the steps up to the second level where the man was staying. I leaned against a wall out of the way, so that he wouldn’t see me until he turned the corner to come down the stairs. It was strange that I had the certainty he would exit his room that night. There’d been no way to know, and yet I’d still waited with complete faith.

I listened to every sound they made in their room with indifference, staring straight forward as I waited patiently. The sensation in my stomach was like I’d eaten a rock, my throat scratchy and a heavy mass weighing me down from the inside-out. I grew increasingly tired, having to put more and more of my weight onto the wall in order to stay upright. I couldn’t bring myself to leave even as my body began to ache all over, but my feet were nailed to the concrete walkway. My knees buckled slightly underneath me, and my mouth fell open as I tried to draw deep mouthfuls of air into my lungs with little success.

Muscles in my arms and legs tightened and twisted. My eyes watered, the light from all the streetlamps and the ones lining the walls of the motel becoming all too bright, like I was staring into the beams of multiple suns in every direction. I coughed suddenly, and nearly fell forward as it turned into a dry heave. The aching pain spread to my fingers, and it felt like I’d jammed all ten of them into a brick wall as I attempted to cradle my churning stomach. Still, there was no leaving. I was bound and determined to stay, something I didn’t understand gripping me tightly and holding me in place.

My gums began to ache, and then sting. The taste of iron coated my tongue, and I weakly let my mouth fall open, gagging and then heaving against the taste as blood and saliva dribbled out of my mouth. All the while, my head throbbed to the beat of my pulse, hammering my head like a jackhammer. A sharp pain reverberated through my skull as a door was slammed. The click of high heels moved the opposite direction of me, and I gasped slightly as another wave of pain crashed through my stomach. I heaved again, and the world around me spun at a hundred miles an hour.

Minutes passed, the pain only increasing. I clawed at my skin as it burned, like someone had dowsed me in gasoline and lit me on fire. I stayed silent, barely able to breathe, gasping between clenched teeth. While a distant part of me urged to scream for help, everything else demanded I wait quietly and patiently for the right time. Something was going to happen; there was something I had to do before I could leave. A door opened, and I managed to pick my head up enough to watch.

Heavy footfalls thumped the concrete this time, approaching the stairwell, and despite the pain, I went totally still. A small breeze caught his scent, blowing it in my face, smelling strongly of cologne and sweat. It was a pungent odor, making my nose burn worse than before. He moved around the corner, and stopped when he saw me. It’s very strange, really, because I was both completely aware of him, and yet at the same time, I was completely unaware. I could smell and hear him better than you could ever imagine. I could see his face, too, but it was like looking at a bug a thousand times magnified. I could vividly make out each and every pore, every hair, brown and grey, every thin droplet of sweat, and yet I couldn’t focus on his actual face or clothes.

I hunched and heaved again. The man didn’t pause to see if I was alright, having every intention of moving on and ignoring me. Every muscle in my body tensed readily as he moved toward me. There was no way he couldn’t sense that something was wrong. His brain had to have been screaming at him, telling him to run away and not look back, get as far away from me as possible. He might still be alive if he’d had the common sense to trust them. It’s a survival instinct plugged into every living being’s brain.

I pushed away from the wall, stumbled a step forward and grabbed his upper arms hard. He probably opened his mouth to yell at me or something, but I cut him off sharply, before he couldn’t even complete his intake of breathe. All that came out of his mouth was a startled gurgle as my teeth closed around the soft, fleshy place beneath his chin. I squeezed as hard as I could, not even worrying that he might’ve been able to push me off, being much bigger and stronger than I was. I felt his muscles tense beneath my hands, and I threw my weight onto him hard, though it didn’t take much for him to fall over, causing us to crash down to the dirty floor with a low thump!

Completely stunned for a second, he finally began to struggle. An image of the bird fighting in my hands as I crushed it flashed through my mind. His skin broke easily, and blood rushed into my mouth and ran down his neck. It was done in seconds, barely enough time for him to even react. My head pulsed, and I situated all of my weight onto his center so he wouldn’t be able to throw me off of him easily. I was smaller than him, female, and weaker. Fear flashed across his face and he opened his mouth to scream, struggling underneath me. I rammed one hand under his jaw, silencing him affectively and pushing his head back and out of the way.

I bit down on the center of his throat, and he convulsed underneath me. His oily whiskers brushed my tongue, and I could taste the salt and chemicals that I’d smelled earlier. His muscles clenched frantically, tendons brushing my teeth. I gave my head a rough jerk, tearing his throat out. He bled everywhere, his blood splashing my face and rushing into my mouth again, all over the concrete and his skin and clothing. I remember loving the taste, the wet warmth.

I only remember brief images after that, filled with bright light and crimson covering everything. I’d never realized one human could bleed so much. He fell into shock, and all the fight left in him pumped out with each beat of his frantic heart. All in all, the whole experience was no more than ten minutes, probably twenty plus waiting, even though it had seemed like days through the bleary dark haze and pain.

I slowly regained my sight and thoughts, blinking through a fog that seemed to be hanging in my eyes. I was panting heavily through my mouth, sticky and wet, tasting bracken and iron. My vision focused on the red body lying beneath me, torn open and mutilated. I’d known what I was doing, I had willingly moved my legs and followed him, but it was like looking in on myself from the outside, with no conscious or care, sense of moral or restraint. I had been able to detach completely from my body, feeling nothing but anticipation. I won’t blame what wasn’t there; it was the disease that’d done it, it was me. The only difference was a new, inhuman state of mind that’d allowed me to do so.

I wasn’t innocent at all, and it wasn’t the man’s fault for what I’d done. I had watched the veins pulse and felt them flowing in my mouth when I’d bitten him as I killed him. But the detachment was gone, like water down a drain. Guilt and horror gripped me, and I remember thinking ‘what have I done, what have I done, what have I done…’ over and over in my head, shaking and fatigued, cold all over. I choked on a sob welling up in my chest, my throat tightening. Reaching up and touching my face, my hands covered in blood up to the elbow and my face and neck dripping. I remembered the warm wet sensation flowing over my skin, and vomited more blood and flesh onto the ground.

Head, gums and fingertips throbbing, I nearly fell down the stairs as I tried to stand up. His face was clawed, patches of flesh peeled away like it was the rind of a fruit. His neck was a giant gaping hole, his stomach an empty cavern, innards strewn around him. Tears ran done my cheeks, mixing with the blood covering my face and falling to the ground. With shaking hands, I knelt forward and patted his pockets. Retrieving his thick black wallet, stuffed with wads of money, all I took was his driver’s license. With shaking hands, I stared at his picture, my eyes brimming with fresh tears of guilt.

A door handle turned, whether it was on the same floor or the level below, I didn’t know. I jumped up unsteadily and raced down the stairs and behind the building, running as fast as I could, my legs rubbery and feet made of led. My vision was once again unfocused as I darted into an alley, and as I climbed the chain link fence dividing it into two parts, a woman screamed back behind me. I huffed breathlessly, nearly falling face first into a garbage can.

I looked around helplessly for a hiding place until I could go home. I moved around a dumpster, and let my back hit the brick wall of a closed shop as I slid down into a sitting position. I closed my eyes, doing my best to ignore the stickiness of the blood as it dried on my skin. The weight of what I’d done continued to settle on me, and I could smell the rain ten minutes before it finally fell. I heard sirens approaching, blaring past a street not fair away, making me shudder away from it.

The drizzle was freezing as it fell, like liquid ice once it touched my skin. I tilted my head back, letting the drops fall on my face. It quickly grew to a steady downpour, and I wiped my hands over my face and arms, running my aching fingers through my hair. It didn’t last very long.

If it hadn’t been him, it would be someone else. There was really no difference, or changing it.

I sat with my back to the wall, watching my door carefully, my eyes trained on the handle. I’d been thinking of leaving for days, dropping everything where it stood, but I was terrified of walking out of the door again. I hadn’t known what’d triggered my reaction that night, and was mortified of what I might do if I left again. I’d shook and cried for hours, whimpering softly in the back of my throat from the time the door had closed until I fell asleep. I should’ve known I couldn’t trust myself to leave… so then what to do?

I wrung my hands hard, pulling my fingers and picking at my nails. I needed to leave, I had no choice. But still, I couldn’t help but think of what I’d done. Staying here would kill me, and everyone else in the building; I was nearly sure of it. And I couldn’t let that happen; not again. I didn’t want anyone else’s blood on my hands. If I stayed, something just as bad as before, or possibly worse, would happen…

I crammed every bit of money I could find in my pockets, pennies and nickels, one dollar bills and twenties. My clothes were clean and smelled strongly of fabric softener and chemical, a heavy jacket around my shoulders. It was a welcome odor, as well as the dirty metallic smell clinging my fingertips and palms from the coins I’d collected. My breath came out in rushed pants, and I sweated lightly. I walked hurriedly into my bedroom, ducking my head underneath the bed and feeling for any lost change. I retrieved two dimes and a quarter.

As I stumbled clumsily back into my living room, I stuffed my feet into my shoes and double knotted my laces. Sticking my fingers between the cushion and arm of the chair I was sitting in to check for anything I might’ve missed, I clambered to the door and flung it open. My pace was panicky as I neared the elevator, but I shied when I heard several voices from the inside. I went to the stairwell and sprinted down the steps, making a racket in my haste.

I earned strange looks as I passed through the lobby, head low as my eyes focused on the doors intently. My pockets jangled loudly, pressing tight to my thighs as I moved. I looked nervously from person to person as I pushed my way through them, getting angry fingers and shoves and yells. Slowly, I managed to calm myself, bit by bit, before I got myself into trouble. I was making myself look guilty, with the classic shifty eyes and jerky movement.

Taking a deep breath through my mouth and holding it as I went made the anxious numbness in my legs and arms fade. I flexed my fingers as I worked the stiffness from them. I walked for hours, despite the fact my legs felt like rubber already, until my breathing was even and my pace was rightfully slow. It grew dark all too quickly, and my stomach was aching with hunger. Eventually, I stopped by a gas station and bought myself some food, which I wolfed down in seconds, nearly making myself sick.

My mind kept racing through the horrible images of what had happened last night, but even then, they faded into my subconscious like a bad dream. Still, I was terrified of what might happen the longer I stayed away from the safety of my apartment. What if I was just walking down the street, or sitting on a bus and I attacked someone, right there in front of the public? What would they do? What would I do? No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, I couldn’t help myself. Had I suddenly just became a sociopath over night? Had this been what was happening to me all along? What was happening to me?

I chewed on my finger tips as I thought, walking down the same sidewalk for the third time that day. The night wore on, nothing happening, no murderous instinct urging me to follow any of the hundreds of strangers passing by me. Dawn approached swiftly, the sun beginning to rise. I paused briefly to watch and then sat down on the sidewalk, uncertain of what to do.

Stay or leave the city? If I did leave, where would I go? I couldn’t go live with someone, or settle down somewhere new; I would have to be homeless eventually, and my money wouldn’t last me forever. It might buy me a couple of nights in a low-grade hotel room, a few hot meals and nothing more. Going to bank wouldn’t be a good idea if I was planning on disappearing, so that meant there was no possibility of gaining some sort of income, unless I resorted to begging. I couldn’t well go get a job. I couldn’t seem to trust myself to be in such close proximity to people that way, especially not for long periods of time. But then would it even be safe to trust myself in a hotel for a night?

But for all I knew was what had happened last night was a one time thing, and I could control myself in the future. And yet, there was still a very heavy, overhanging doubt, and better reasoning yet. Whatever made it the last time could just as well make it the first of many. There was no sure way to tell I wouldn’t turn around right where I was and rip someone’s throat out on the street right that moment, or ten minutes from now. I still felt strange and fatigued, my entire body sore, like I’d come back from a day of nothing but lifting weights and running marathons.

My thoughts ran in circles, going back to the events leading up to what had happened last night, for future reference. Feeling sick, then almost normal again, like nothing had ever happened at all. Going out, blank minded and then, almost nothing. I was sure that I’d had more of memory last night than I did now, as if almost everything had slipped back into a corner of my mind. When the few images I could recall surfaced, I nearly flinched when I thought of the man’s healthy face and confident stride, before I’d followed and caught him. I remembered incredible pain all over my body, and bright lights and screaming that made my ears ring. I turned my thoughts in another direction quickly after that as the memories made my stomach churn with nausea.

Finally I decided that I would leave. Where to was just a blank I needed to fill in along the way. It seemed rather clear that I needed to leave my life behind completely; my apartment, this city behind and maybe even the entire state. Who knew, maybe the continent? It was a crazy, utterly ludicrous chain of thoughts, but they seemed to make so much sense at the time. Funny how I knew, no matter how insane, they were true, and held more logic than staying where I was and risking be found, no matter how slim or likely the chances were. I had to leave behind everything I’d ever known, or risk being carted away forcefully rather than by my own decision.

It threw all my morals into question, everything I’d ever believed, everything I’d been taught and decided on about right and wrong. After what I’d done, I deserved punishment. Like many books would tell you, whenever it is you and not someone else who has committed the crime, suddenly black and white becomes shades of gray. Most people would find themselves trying to justify their actions, or find someone or something else to blame their injustice upon, turning themselves from the convicted into the victim.

I can honestly say that I never once tried to justify what I’d done by making up bogus excuses. I knew what I’d done was wrong, I knew I shouldn’t have ran away like I did. But I felt that I needed to at least know what was happening before then, before I sealed my fate and caged myself in while I waited for an inevitable execution. Would you want to die before you knew what was wrong with you?

I continued walking, nonstop as I thought. Early morning turned into the afternoon, and afternoon turned into evening, evening to night. My stomach growled hungrily, my feet ached and my legs felt like they might collapse beneath me if I paused for a moment. Exertion had my eyes drooping, and I vaguely considered going home and sleeping in my soft bed. I might have, too, if I wasn’t all the way at the other side of the city. So I had to stumble limply into an alleyway and slump again a wall. I let the back of my head rest against the bricks, pulling my jacket tight around my shoulders, stuffing my numb hands into my already full pockets.

It was cold that night, but I barely noticed. When my nose began to go numb, I nestled my head into my shoulder and shut my eyes again. I’d never slept outside before in my entire life, but it wasn’t terrible. I nodded off slowly, my eyes hanging half open and staring at the opposite wall ahead of me from time to time. The bricks were hard against the back of my skull, but it didn’t bother me enough to keep me from falling back to sleep.

Eventually I jerked awake, unable to remember what my dream had been about, and the lights from the street lamps were as blinding as the sun. There was a bitter taste in my mouth and a stiff pain in my back and neck, fingers clenched into a ball to keep warm. Licking my dry lips, I slowly got to my feet and rolled my shoulders a few seconds. Nobody even glanced my way, and I walked back out onto the sidewalk with stiff legs. I rubbed my burning left eye with my left knuckle, and found a bus stop a little while later, along with a map of different routes and stops.

Sitting on the bench, I sat up straight and began thinking about what I was going to do once I left. I had no plan. People passed by, and car horns honked continuously. I didn’t know If I’d be able to stand the sounds so close the road, but finally, the bus came and rolled to a begrudging stop, brakes screeching and setting my teeth on end. I got to my feet briskly, and the doors snapped open. I let my mouth fall open slightly as I climbed the steps, trying not to breath through my nose, all the different smells far too concentrated for my head to handle.

It was nearly empty inside, amazingly enough. I sat down in the seat closest to the exit and kept my back stiff. I kept forgetting to keep breathing through my mouth, and my head ached painfully from the numerous odors that covered the place. My hands were tucked neatly in my lap, and I kept my gaze focused outside the window in front of me. About an hour and a half slipped by, and I stayed seated throughout every stop, until the driver turned around and told me it was as far as he could take me.

I got from bus to bus and rode for miles, not paying attention to where I wound up. When I finally stepped off, it was in the middle of the day, the sun glaring at its brightest in the nearly cloudless sky and people swarming on the sidewalks like ants. My eyes ached painfully from the light as I moved, keeping my head low and squinting. It seemed brighter outside than it’d ever been before, and as I kept a brisk pace as I made my way through the mass of bodies.

The sun sank grudgingly downward, allowing my pulsating migraine peace at last. I found a bench just outside a little shop with a dark blue awning and sat down for a long time, thinking over where I was going to go from now on.

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