It’s actually a pretty good life here, if you ignore the whole locked-up-forever bit. I get pretty much anything I want. I give a list to my handlers (no idea of names, they’re not exactly the chatty type and I have given up asking) and within a day or so whatever I asked for gets posted through the little hatch in my room. Movies, music, games, you name it. They tried some exercise equipment once but screw that. Even this computer. I mean, the internet is allowed and all, but I’m not supposed to post anything. But, you know. Come on. Even toddlers can do it these days, I’ve seen videos. So I guess the handlers just let me do what I want as long as I don’t take the piss too much. I probably should be using fake names and places and all that stuff but I really don’t know anything so it doesn’t matter. I definitely shouldn’t be posting here and they are bound to be monitoring what I’m doing so I guess what I’m saying is read up quickly because I don’t know how long this is going to be around.
I mean, there’s not actually that much they can do about it. It’s not like they can send me to my room or anything stupid like that. I don’t leave my room. It’s OK. Pretty big. You know: white, clinical, puke-green floor, two-way mirrors, the usual. I’ve got a massive bed, screens, gaming systems, the works. It’s pretty cool all things considered. There’s a shower and sink. No toilet but why would there be? Lots of decontamination goop. Hygiene is very important for someone like me. Things can get gross fast if you’re not careful. Besides, it’s not like I’m a germaphobe or anything, but you’re bound to be a bit cautious if you sit next to the wrong person on the bus and then end up being the only survivor of a deadly disease thought long dead that kills everyone you’ve ever known and loved as well as everyone else within a hundred mile radius. Let’s just say I wash my hands much more thoroughly now.
The rules can be a bit strict, but I guess that makes sense with most of the people living here being potential walking apocalypses and all. No alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, fraternising, blah blah. In a way I’m healthier than I ever have been, apart from “incubating death” as one of them said to me once. I kinda like that, in spite of everything. Pretty metal and it’s not often I get to feel like a badass.
Oh, and the “they” I was talking about are the scientists and medical teams and government officials and handlers that run this place. It’s a super-secret facility, so don’t tell anyone. There are a few of us here, all sole survivors plucked out of the stinking bodies that inevitably pile around us wherever we go, set up in our cosy little cells with strip lighting and told that according to all official records, we are already dead. I suppose they had to do something with us. It’s not like they could keep us in a proper prison or shoot us in the head or anything. We are still meant to be people even if we don’t technically exist anymore. We can’t meet each other, of course – we are all infected with different diseases which would either kill each other as soon as they came into contact or join forces to form some kind of apocalyptic super-bug. I know other people are here, though. I’ve got it a lot better than some of the others. My infection is passed through blood so as long as I don’t bleed on you it’s all good (apparently, it can also be passed on through sex but I haven’t been able to test that theory). But for others it can be airborne which really sucks because it means that they can’t go outside. They are stuck in those four walls forever, except for the rare occasions where they are wheeled out in an oxygenated hazmat suit to sit out in the sun they can’t feel, on grass they can’t touch.
Now me, I get to go out and about a bit, even get these little road-trips sometimes. I always know when the handlers are winding up to something special because there’s suddenly this buzz in the air even though it looks like nothing has changed. They stop bringing me food, which pisses me off but it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it. I swear, I am so hungry all the time. The infection did weird stuff to my metabolism – I can eat and eat and eat and never feel full. I will eat until my stomach is pumped full of food, until the skin is stretched taut and it feel like I’m about to burst. Then I just don’t want to eat any more and sort of slowly deflate like a sad, fleshy balloon.
People here always seem to be in a rush but I never really see them doing anything. They just hang around making notes on those little computer things. They just occasionally appear behind the glass without a by-your-leave, staring at you, their fingers going tap-tap-tap. They don’t say hi or nothing. Look, I’m a friendly guy, I like the chat, but they don’t even wave and I call that just plain ignorant. There’s no reason why they can’t wave, right? It can’t do any harm, just a little conversation. They’re all togged up in those bio-hazard suits anyway, they’re all safe. I used to go up to the windows when I saw them, try to get them to engage a bit, but it’s difficult when you can’t even tell who you’re talking too. Between the hood and the mask and the gloves you can barely tell them apart. They just ignored me anyway.
Sometimes when I get bored now I wait until their concentration wanders a bit and then run up to the window and bang on the glass. It doesn’t half make them jump, heh heh. I guess it can’t be a pretty sight, really. The infection did a bit of a number on my body and I’m not quite the dashing guy I used to be. I can move pretty quick when I want to and I usually wait until after a meal so I’m good and bloated. All that mass barrelling towards you must be a bit of a shock, even when you know the glass is bullet-proof.
I’ve just got to be careful to stop before my body actually hits the glass, otherwise I can get caught out by the ricochet. Once or twice I’ve recoiled straight off it and ended up stuck on my back for hours like a beetle waving its little legs pathetically in the air. It takes a little while for my digestive system to kick in after a full meal so for a couple of days I am roughly the same shape as a potato. It’s no joke trying to get up off the floor when you’re almost circular, with a distended belly bouncing all over the place and thick, waddy limbs clutching helplessly at the air. And you know no one is going to come in and help. Nooo, not them. Best you get is a long stick poked through the hatch to slide you across the floor into a more comfortable position or to grab onto to help you pull yourself up. I think in my former life I would have found it all humiliating. But these days I’m so sleepy after a meal that it doesn’t really bother me. It’s the only time I get a good kip so might as well enjoy it. The floor is as good as the bed and at least I know I’m not going to fall off it. Still, I don’t like to think that any of the staff go out at the end of their shift and start pissing themselves laughing at the fat-ass on the floor.
So, all in all, I’m pretty content. When I first got here I admit I was angry and jaded and bitter. I went through this phase where I just seemed to rage all the time. I don’t sleep anymore except after big meals so I would spend all day and all night prowling around the room tearing at the walls and yelling. It all seemed so sad and unfair, you know? But that feels a really long way away now. They think it might be part of my condition, actually. A sort of apathy to life in general. Limited emotions and empathy, a disconnection to humanity in general. Whatever. I don’t really care about anything anymore. Some banter would be great but that’s more boredom than anything. I suppose sex would be nice but I don’t really feel anything like that now. I’m not even sure everything down there even works in my current state. I’m not happy or sad or angry or depressed or anything, I’m just sort of content. As long as I get fed on time and get the stuff I ask for, what more could I want?
Except for when I get a day pass. Those really are good days. And I know there is one coming up because they’ve been starving me again so I’ve definitely got a big meal coming – something proper, delicious and juicy rather than the normal crap. I mean, I get it, when you’ve got someone who eats as much as I do you’re going to go for bulk product rather than quality but still, they could put a bit more effort in. Bus in a chef or something, experiment with some actual flavour. These days, a trip out, a few new sights and a decent bit of grub at the end of it is like a trip to Disneyland. It even manages to stir up a vague remnant of excitement in my fried up emotions. So stick around, assuming they don’t find this post I’ll write again and tell you all about it.
TTFN.
Your friendly neighbourhood plague-rat,
Billy