wrote this a long time ago. Only got around to posting it now. PG-13 for somewhat distressing imagery.
enjoy.
“Isn't there anything you can do Doctor?”
The Doctor had been dreading this question ever since this patient had been admitted. He honestly didn't have an answer for her. The results shown that the girl had been infected with a violent pathogen the likes of which he – or anyone else in the hospital – had ever seen. Samples taken from Blood and Spine Fluid shown that it has infiltrated every part of her body and showed no sign of stopping. All attempts at a cure had been so far unsuccessful.
How do you tell that to a mother?
How do you tell a mother that her daughter has no chance of survival?
By the time we even understand what exactly it is, she would have passed, and the only chance we would have had at researching it in a human would have gone.
The doctor, in his sterile white coat and a face mask, walked into a small room with a large window adjacent. Through this window was the girl in question.
A pitiful figure, grey amongst the white of her sheets. Her long, lank black hair lay across her chest, somewhat obscuring the sallow skin of her face. She was hooked up to a ventilator and the doctor watched as her chest moved up and down where the machine was pumping oxygen in and carbon dioxide out. He looked at her hands, which were heavily bandaged, both of them victim to a horrible symptom of the disease – skin and muscle necrosis on the fingers and thumb wasting them away to nothing, leaving only bone behind, bone which becomes increasingly dense, the joints harden until they become unmovable. Along the palm and wrist and most of the forearm, a lesser necrosis occurs, leaving the skin dark and blackened. Dermatologists have inspected the rest of her body for similar occurrences, but only found the skin to be an unhealthy grey colour.
The doctor heard the door open behind him, he turned quickly and was faced with the girl's mother. They say the girl was a spitting image of her mother, you'd never be able to tell that now. The girl's mother looked bright and alert – she must have finally listened and got some rest – and the clothes she wore were quite dark, perhaps in some sort of reverence for her daughter. She looked at the doctor and that was all it took for the message to be conveyed.
“No, I'm sorry Mrs. O'Donagh-”
“Please, call me Moira. I-I've spent so much time in this hospital, that I think we're past pleasantries.”
“Okay Moira. We're still where we were last week. All treatments we've tried have been ineffective, the only consolation we can draw from this is that the disease seems to be slowing down, at this rate in a few days time, the pathogen will have stopped altogether. Maybe then we can start some kind of treatment.”
Moira O'Donagh turned away for a second and choked back a sob, she turned back to the doctor with red, bloodshot eyes, “You haven't been able to do anything?” she asked.
The doctor sighed, he had tried to give her hope with that, but she had only looked at the negatives. “Yes, that much is true. But we do believe we can set up a treatment program that will flush out the rest of the pathogen as it lies dormant.”
Moira, who had been sobbing gently on a nearby chair, looked up “R-Really. You think you can h-help?” she held a tissue in her hand, dampened by tears. The doctor showed her a small bin in the corner of the room and she disposed of the small piece of tissue but grabbed another from a packet in her coat pocket.
“Nothing is certain at this point at time, but all of our projections seem good.” The doctor seemed positive about this news.
Moira smiled, ever so slightly, the corners of her lips creeping up the smallest fraction of an inch. “Thank you Dr. Howard. I trust you can do something about it.”
Dr. Howard turned back to the window and took a last look at the figure on the bed, he shook his head and with a new determination, left the room.
* * *
burn
burn
burn
Burn
BURN THE WITCH!
“BURN HER!”
Cries of anger and fear were being thrown around the field. The very air was alive with sound and with movement, on this emerald glen deep within the Irish countryside was a wooden pyre – tied to it was a young woman.
Around her were countless villagers, just yesterday they were normal peaceful people living there pious catholic lives, now what were they. Twisted devils, casting aspersions and screaming profanities like the very ones they persecute. Filthy hypocrites every last one of them - they preach goodness and forgiveness, they preach the sanctity of life yet here they stand with torches and pitchforks in hand ready to brutalise a young woman accused of witchcraft. All she'd done was mix up some herbs for an ill relative and now her friends and neighbours were calling here the Devil's *****. Where's the justice in that?
She spat on the ground at their feet.
“She tries to curse us. Burn her before she ensnares our minds!” one man in the crowd shouted. From behind him, out stepped the vicar wearing some kind of ceremonial garb. Wearing them as if this were something to be celebrated.
“Today we do the Lord's work. The accused has been found guilty of the most grievous crime - That of witchcraft. Her sentence – Death.” He paused to allow a wave of satisfied murmuring to capture the gathered masses. “The bible says that we should renounce the Devil and his ways. Those who do not, shall be punished.”
The vicar grabbed a torch from a nearby villager and raised it high in the air, “Today we send another she-devil to Hell!” and he flung it upon the wooden structure igniting the base almost immediately.
The young woman screamed, “The bible also say Thou Shalt Not Kill!” the scarlet justice wavered around her feet, “and to Love Thy Neighbour! Your God shall not forgive two breaks of his divine Law. Say Hello to Lucifer.”
The flames slowly rose, engulfing her body. The flesh seared and the foul stench of rotting corpulence filled the nostrils of all those around. She screamed one last time before her charred remains fell silent for the last time.
* * *
A flash of light ran through the small room, for a fraction of a second giving the prone figure on the bed a ghostly white glow.
It was dark now and a small moon cast a dull glow upon the room, rain threw itself violently against the window - sporadic flashes of lightning and thunder performing an environmental sonata against the silence.
The tired woman sat half asleep on the chair jumped up when she heard the door creaking open, “Mrs. O'Donagh? I think it's best you go home for today, you're far too tired.”
Moira looked up at the doctor, tiredness clearly showing in her eyes. “Yes, I think you're right. I'll leave.” she went to stand but the doctor placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You can't drive in that state. I've just clocked out, I'll drive you home.” he gave a warm smile, but remembered he was wearing a face mask, he chuckled “I hate these things, it's hard to be reassuring if people can't see you smile.”
“It's all right doctor-”
“No I insist. Come on, it's getting late.”
Moira stood and the doctor placed an arm on her shoulder, together they walked out of the room and made their way down the corridors to the doctor's car.
--
The clock ticked over to eleven fifty nine.
Tick tock tick tock
The storm had abated and a dull mist lay across the hospital grounds, small moon casting it's eerie glow through the windows.
It was at this time an orderly walked into the room with fresh towels and sheets. He had his face mask on tight and he remembered to wear the hazmat suit when dealing with this particular patient, finding it on the hook he slipped it on and opened the door to the mid chamber. Closing that swiftly behind him he proceeded to open the other door into the main room.
Tick tock tick tock
The man in the bright yellow suit took the sheets from the girl's bed and placed them in a nearby bin, grabbing a fresh one, he pulled the thin cloth over the girl's motionless form.
Tick tock tick tock
He carefully took the pillows from under her head, took off the pillowcases and replaced them with fresh ones. Slowly, he put them back.
Tick tock tick tock
He turned to leave but heard the bed creak. 'she must have spasmed' he thought, continuing to the door.
Tick tock tick tock
The clock turned over to midnight.
Witching Hour.
Dark eyes opened. Black hands flexed under bandage. Muscles sparked into unlife.
She turned her head to the yellow man retreating to the exit.
Blink. A thousand images burned before her eyes - Fire, War, Chaos. Too much to bare. Tears well up in black eyes. She couldn't help but cry.
A quiet sobbing filled the room and the orderly couldn't help but notice. He turned instantly and found the bed he had just cleaned empty.
'what the-'
He crept forwards, edging closer and closer to the bed. The cries got louder and louder and as he put his hands on the bed he noticed torn pieces of gauze and bandage littering the sheets he had just changed.
'huh?'
The orderly in his hazmat suit stalked around the bed and lying against the metal under frame was the girl, rocking back and forth, black hands over her face.
“Excuse me. Are you all right?”
She looked up.
Into the black reflective visor of the suit.
And screamed...
Blackened claw met unresisting plastic suit – plastic suit gave way to soft flesh – soft flesh gave way to toughened bone. She didn't stop attacking, she flung her arms at every inch of the orderly she could find, spraying blood around the small room.
The small girl stood over the unrecognisable body of the young orderly, breathing...
...calm amongst the viscera littering hospital floor...
...scarlet fury smattering the grey of her skin...
...the feeling of unlife coursing through blackened veins.
She Feasted.
enjoy.
“Isn't there anything you can do Doctor?”
The Doctor had been dreading this question ever since this patient had been admitted. He honestly didn't have an answer for her. The results shown that the girl had been infected with a violent pathogen the likes of which he – or anyone else in the hospital – had ever seen. Samples taken from Blood and Spine Fluid shown that it has infiltrated every part of her body and showed no sign of stopping. All attempts at a cure had been so far unsuccessful.
How do you tell that to a mother?
How do you tell a mother that her daughter has no chance of survival?
By the time we even understand what exactly it is, she would have passed, and the only chance we would have had at researching it in a human would have gone.
The doctor, in his sterile white coat and a face mask, walked into a small room with a large window adjacent. Through this window was the girl in question.
A pitiful figure, grey amongst the white of her sheets. Her long, lank black hair lay across her chest, somewhat obscuring the sallow skin of her face. She was hooked up to a ventilator and the doctor watched as her chest moved up and down where the machine was pumping oxygen in and carbon dioxide out. He looked at her hands, which were heavily bandaged, both of them victim to a horrible symptom of the disease – skin and muscle necrosis on the fingers and thumb wasting them away to nothing, leaving only bone behind, bone which becomes increasingly dense, the joints harden until they become unmovable. Along the palm and wrist and most of the forearm, a lesser necrosis occurs, leaving the skin dark and blackened. Dermatologists have inspected the rest of her body for similar occurrences, but only found the skin to be an unhealthy grey colour.
The doctor heard the door open behind him, he turned quickly and was faced with the girl's mother. They say the girl was a spitting image of her mother, you'd never be able to tell that now. The girl's mother looked bright and alert – she must have finally listened and got some rest – and the clothes she wore were quite dark, perhaps in some sort of reverence for her daughter. She looked at the doctor and that was all it took for the message to be conveyed.
“No, I'm sorry Mrs. O'Donagh-”
“Please, call me Moira. I-I've spent so much time in this hospital, that I think we're past pleasantries.”
“Okay Moira. We're still where we were last week. All treatments we've tried have been ineffective, the only consolation we can draw from this is that the disease seems to be slowing down, at this rate in a few days time, the pathogen will have stopped altogether. Maybe then we can start some kind of treatment.”
Moira O'Donagh turned away for a second and choked back a sob, she turned back to the doctor with red, bloodshot eyes, “You haven't been able to do anything?” she asked.
The doctor sighed, he had tried to give her hope with that, but she had only looked at the negatives. “Yes, that much is true. But we do believe we can set up a treatment program that will flush out the rest of the pathogen as it lies dormant.”
Moira, who had been sobbing gently on a nearby chair, looked up “R-Really. You think you can h-help?” she held a tissue in her hand, dampened by tears. The doctor showed her a small bin in the corner of the room and she disposed of the small piece of tissue but grabbed another from a packet in her coat pocket.
“Nothing is certain at this point at time, but all of our projections seem good.” The doctor seemed positive about this news.
Moira smiled, ever so slightly, the corners of her lips creeping up the smallest fraction of an inch. “Thank you Dr. Howard. I trust you can do something about it.”
Dr. Howard turned back to the window and took a last look at the figure on the bed, he shook his head and with a new determination, left the room.
* * *
burn
burn
burn
Burn
BURN THE WITCH!
“BURN HER!”
Cries of anger and fear were being thrown around the field. The very air was alive with sound and with movement, on this emerald glen deep within the Irish countryside was a wooden pyre – tied to it was a young woman.
Around her were countless villagers, just yesterday they were normal peaceful people living there pious catholic lives, now what were they. Twisted devils, casting aspersions and screaming profanities like the very ones they persecute. Filthy hypocrites every last one of them - they preach goodness and forgiveness, they preach the sanctity of life yet here they stand with torches and pitchforks in hand ready to brutalise a young woman accused of witchcraft. All she'd done was mix up some herbs for an ill relative and now her friends and neighbours were calling here the Devil's *****. Where's the justice in that?
She spat on the ground at their feet.
“She tries to curse us. Burn her before she ensnares our minds!” one man in the crowd shouted. From behind him, out stepped the vicar wearing some kind of ceremonial garb. Wearing them as if this were something to be celebrated.
“Today we do the Lord's work. The accused has been found guilty of the most grievous crime - That of witchcraft. Her sentence – Death.” He paused to allow a wave of satisfied murmuring to capture the gathered masses. “The bible says that we should renounce the Devil and his ways. Those who do not, shall be punished.”
The vicar grabbed a torch from a nearby villager and raised it high in the air, “Today we send another she-devil to Hell!” and he flung it upon the wooden structure igniting the base almost immediately.
The young woman screamed, “The bible also say Thou Shalt Not Kill!” the scarlet justice wavered around her feet, “and to Love Thy Neighbour! Your God shall not forgive two breaks of his divine Law. Say Hello to Lucifer.”
The flames slowly rose, engulfing her body. The flesh seared and the foul stench of rotting corpulence filled the nostrils of all those around. She screamed one last time before her charred remains fell silent for the last time.
* * *
A flash of light ran through the small room, for a fraction of a second giving the prone figure on the bed a ghostly white glow.
It was dark now and a small moon cast a dull glow upon the room, rain threw itself violently against the window - sporadic flashes of lightning and thunder performing an environmental sonata against the silence.
The tired woman sat half asleep on the chair jumped up when she heard the door creaking open, “Mrs. O'Donagh? I think it's best you go home for today, you're far too tired.”
Moira looked up at the doctor, tiredness clearly showing in her eyes. “Yes, I think you're right. I'll leave.” she went to stand but the doctor placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You can't drive in that state. I've just clocked out, I'll drive you home.” he gave a warm smile, but remembered he was wearing a face mask, he chuckled “I hate these things, it's hard to be reassuring if people can't see you smile.”
“It's all right doctor-”
“No I insist. Come on, it's getting late.”
Moira stood and the doctor placed an arm on her shoulder, together they walked out of the room and made their way down the corridors to the doctor's car.
--
The clock ticked over to eleven fifty nine.
Tick tock tick tock
The storm had abated and a dull mist lay across the hospital grounds, small moon casting it's eerie glow through the windows.
It was at this time an orderly walked into the room with fresh towels and sheets. He had his face mask on tight and he remembered to wear the hazmat suit when dealing with this particular patient, finding it on the hook he slipped it on and opened the door to the mid chamber. Closing that swiftly behind him he proceeded to open the other door into the main room.
Tick tock tick tock
The man in the bright yellow suit took the sheets from the girl's bed and placed them in a nearby bin, grabbing a fresh one, he pulled the thin cloth over the girl's motionless form.
Tick tock tick tock
He carefully took the pillows from under her head, took off the pillowcases and replaced them with fresh ones. Slowly, he put them back.
Tick tock tick tock
He turned to leave but heard the bed creak. 'she must have spasmed' he thought, continuing to the door.
Tick tock tick tock
The clock turned over to midnight.
Witching Hour.
Dark eyes opened. Black hands flexed under bandage. Muscles sparked into unlife.
She turned her head to the yellow man retreating to the exit.
Blink. A thousand images burned before her eyes - Fire, War, Chaos. Too much to bare. Tears well up in black eyes. She couldn't help but cry.
A quiet sobbing filled the room and the orderly couldn't help but notice. He turned instantly and found the bed he had just cleaned empty.
'what the-'
He crept forwards, edging closer and closer to the bed. The cries got louder and louder and as he put his hands on the bed he noticed torn pieces of gauze and bandage littering the sheets he had just changed.
'huh?'
The orderly in his hazmat suit stalked around the bed and lying against the metal under frame was the girl, rocking back and forth, black hands over her face.
“Excuse me. Are you all right?”
She looked up.
Into the black reflective visor of the suit.
And screamed...
Blackened claw met unresisting plastic suit – plastic suit gave way to soft flesh – soft flesh gave way to toughened bone. She didn't stop attacking, she flung her arms at every inch of the orderly she could find, spraying blood around the small room.
The small girl stood over the unrecognisable body of the young orderly, breathing...
In and Out
...calm amongst the viscera littering hospital floor...
In and Out
...scarlet fury smattering the grey of her skin...
In and Out
...the feeling of unlife coursing through blackened veins.
She Feasted.