Humanity

The odor saturated the room in a vile and loathsome manner, digging itself into every orifice and rotting until it made his bones rattle. Paralyzed by the parasite, the man felt each bullet piercing his pristine skin, the white of purity soaked in scarlet. He stared into the abyss and watched as the specks of dust, glittering in the slight sunlight that entered the room, floated in the ocean of oxygen. His lungs grasping fruitlessly at the poison that ruptured his trachea until his body became infested as well. His eyes darkened with stubbornness, unyielding to the scorching pain of distilled rubbing alcohol that coated each and every wound.

! Humanity can be such a deadly disease. It warms the heart in a fire so hot that in moments it’s nothing more than charcoaled hatred, harboring hard feelings, and pledging itself to revenge. Then tears swell in the whites of the eyes while the disease pushes any ounce of guilt and adrenaline it can into the body. He could smell it as soon as he stepped into the room. Humanity. The stench that lingered and lusted after any encounter it had. It’s last victim lay stone-cold on the ground; the dagger plunged into her chest. The enticing nature of Humanity only drowns the heart and suffocates it until its captive is unable to move on. It was Humanity that killed her, they say; her death certificate marked by the bite of its wrath. And as soon as they begin to mourn her passing, they begin to get infested too.

! He tried to stop them by removing the body, but as soon as he had entered the room, its power overtook him. So he froze there, his bones wrapped in the tight embrace of death’s subtle love. The kiss of desire. The rush of passion. The touch of misery. His eyes fogged as they succumbed to their master, the new lord of life: Humanity. If he was lucky, he’d have a week to live. For once one is infected, they see the world for what it really is. They observe the thrust of power over poverty, the pull of souls to their mutilated devices. They helplessly watch as the wine turns bitter, the colors turn black.

! There is no cure for Humanity, except to never catch it at all. To navigate around its labyrinth without sighting the core of the apple. To sidestep the thorns while never glancing at the rose. Men have tried unsuccessfully for centuries to end this infliction, but to date, there has been no progress. Some have tried recycling the oxygen that carries the disease, hoping to expel any of its remnants from the body by slowing down its exhalation. As if the murderer could be eradicated from the victim without much damage. None have survived that method. Others have attempted to confine themselves to solitude, swearing that no affliction can creep its way through their walls. But loneliness is Humanity’s trumping card, using it to deal itself into their decks. No one has reported surviving in this case. Their carcasses are covered with Humanity’s fingerprints.

! Such an abused little creature lay coiled upon that floor. The dark ringlets under her eyes were the grave her killer had prepared. Her frame was defined by its skeletal architecture. Her hair knotted in a ball of chaos. The red scars that stemmed from her nail-beds mirrored the ones on her arms. She couldn’t claw her way out of this one. Her corpse reeked of Humanity’s perfume. No wonder all who had set eyes upon her wafted in its odor. They had signed their death certificate themselves. Her cadaver had helped none of the science-men to derive a cure. Rather, they had treated themselves to a serving of its wrath. They were lost from the moment they gazed at her. That was its handiwork. And he to, was lost in the abyss.

! Humanity, the wretched monster. The misguided arson. The beautiful killer.