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The infection




The boy's mother walked around the house, in a cleaning ritual that marked the beginning of the weekend. The smell of fruit and paraffin intertwined in the air, the boy thought offhandedly that it must be canning season. His mother looked at him, and gave him an odd look, her eyes growing round and large on her face, not figuratively but anatomically.

"The door." she said, staring unseeingly. She repeated the phrase multiple times, and though the word she used was door, he knew she wasn't talking about a door.

Hello? Door. The cans, the cans," she began, pausing for no apparent reason. "Berries, berries." She went to lay down on her bed. That was the last time he saw her alive. Days later, in school, he waited as the teacher droned on about anecdotes and transitions. He studied the swirling grains of the wood in the desk, contemplated how they were all large ovals on its brown surface. The teacher stopped suddenly. He didn't look up.

"Markers... The desk, the desk." He whipped his head around at these words, and looked at his teacher. Her eyes were round and staring into the distance, unseeingly. He recoiled in horror, wanting to get out of his desk, but at his angle it would put him closer to her. He got up anyway, walking along the wall until he was as far away from her as he could be.

"The desk, look at what time it is. Markers, markers..." She walked to her chair, and sat down in it, placing her head down on her desk, making no more noise. He looked around at the students in the room, and realized with dawning horror that their eyes were becoming round and shiny as well, unseeing. He looked at his nearest classmate, and the other boy stared ahead.

"Garlic, my backpack, my backpack." Said a student across the room. He sank into the corner, the warm insulating stucco paint gently massaging the skin of his back through his shirt in his slide.

"The countertop. Toasters-"

"Watermelon, watermelon. My eyes!" His attention was called to the person who had said that, his initial thoughts being that they actually realized what was happening to them and were aware enough to remark about their eyes, but it appeared to be a coincidence.

"This pencil, my sharpie, sharpie."

"Paper tow-"

"Let be be the finale of seem."

"The refrigerator, diet, diet." The noise quieted down after time, and slowly the students of class began to lay their heads down on their desks. He felt an immense fear unlike any other before as he felt his eyes grow on his face. Immediately, he grasped a few words, and all at once understood why others were doing it. They were the final hold on memory and mind anyone had, vocalizing them the only way to grip reality. His eyes circles like dinner plates on his face, shiny and tear filled, he began.

"The microwave, the microwave... Water cooler, water cooler. Soap, don't leave me.

"Soap, water. The microwave." He felt his gaze drift to something in the distance, through the wall yet not visible. He continued to hold on to his words.

"Cooler. Water, water." He placed his head on his chest, and his mind was taken over.





Inspired by a dream I can only partially remember. Enjoy

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