Said the Spider to the Fly
Maybe it was the fact that the room was cold. The fact that there were eyes, so many eyes staring at him. The fact that he was about to speak about a rather touchy subject. Regardless of the reason behind it, Allan Brechvon shivered, almost refusing to get up on stage in the first place. It was at these times that he hated people looking up to him, expecting him to know what to do. It was at these moments that he resented trust, because what if he wasn't trustworthy? What if his sources weren't trustworthy?
He clutched the paper manuscript tightly in his right hand as he adjusted his tie, stepping up under the lights, before the eyes, and cameras. The original journal had been destroyed after several people in biohazard suits finished transcribing it, word for word. All misspellings, and crossed out words were transcribed as well. This was a story that needed to be told, but the actual book, with it's attached vials of what was noted to be the R-Virus, held risks no one was willing to take, not after what had happened only across the border.
"There are very few documents from within America concerning the terrible events of the past week," Allan began speaking, face kept entirely emotionless, save for the traces of appropriate sorrow. "Many that have been recovered are confidential government documents that are not being revealed to the general public. I'm sure everyone's seen the Youtube videos, and heard the radio broadcasts. However I'm here today to tell inform you that new information has been released recently, in the form of a manuscript of a young woman's journal."
There was but a moment of silence, the sound of papers being turned. Everyone was anxiously waiting to hear what was to be read. Trying to figure out the tragic story of the super power that had been America. It was true, they'd been given very little information. Aside from theories, amateur videos, and the distinct lack of America, there was little proof that anything had happened at all. Everyone was dying to know what had managed to completely destroy American in less than fourteen days. But then a throat was cleared, and all eyes were drawn to the spokesmen.
"'My name is Excel Johansson,'" the man read, raising a hand to loosen his tie as he tried to get himself in a mind frame that would prevent him from feeling what it was he was reading. A young woman's Will. "'I'm a twenty one year old woman, and a former student of a small city college. As a general description, my hair is brown as are my eyes. My skin is light, and I have freckles. If you're reading this, the chances are great that I am currently dead, or a zombie. I'll hope for the former. I'm keeping this journal to record the events, and facts of my final days. I hope that one day this journal will be found, and shed knew light on the American epidemic. I hope that these entries will tell the true story of the effects of the R-virus, given that's the actual cause of all of this. 'Out-of-towners' may believe so, but those of us stuck in the middle of it all aren't so sure. I'm not sure where to begin my story, so I'll just start at my beginning of it all. It all started with my older brother.'"
Pausing to take a sip of water, the man tried to quietly clear his throat. To read such a journal was hard for anyone. No matter how you prepared yourself for such a thing, it was difficult. It was apparent that there simply wasn't a mind frame that would make the reading less painful for him. It is absolutely gut wrenching to know that you were expressing a strangers final thoughts to a group of people who neither knew, nor cared about the writer. The man placed his cup back on the stand, and looked back at the crisp, and clean manuscript, wondering what exactly the original journal looked like before it was destroyed.
"'You see,'" he read. "'The problem wasn't that he died. The problem was that he didn't stay dead..'"
"I promise I won't hurt you," Said the Spider to the Fly. "I'll remember everything you've done. Though they'll never wonder why." The game was played for keeps that day; The Spider hadn't missed its cue. The Fly, it died, the battle was lost, but the war was not yet through.