"The Dead Land." - A Story. Idk who's it is. So.

[TrueViolett]

Chapter 19.
The Nurse.

I wake up the next morning, and they ask questions, they draw blood, they talk to me, they act like everything is fine.
Next morning they ask me questions, draw blood, talk to me, act like everything is fine.
Next morning, draw blood, talk to me, act like everything is fine.
Next morning, draw blood, act like everything is fine.
Next morning, everything is fine. Everything is fine. EVERYTHING IS FINE.
What happens the next morning? Next morning the nurse comes in to draw more blood. I grab her by her wrist and look in her eyes,
"Bring that woman to me. Or are you going to keep using me for your blood donations? Or am I just another source of fuel for your experiments? None of you tell me what's going on with me and I want to know. Where is that woman?" The nurse raises an eyebrow and laughs with a smile. "She's dead," she says, "Get used to your friendly nurse who doesn't give a rat's-" "That is enough," the woman says as she throws open the door. She keeps her composure and comes to my rescue. Where was she five days ago?

Its almost like I'm in a story and the writer needed something coincidental to happen so she just wrote it like this because its not like anyone who's reading it could change it so dab... What's a dab? We've never heard of such a thing in this world. ANYWAY.

The woman sits beside me, "Ignore her," she says, "she's as stubborn as a dog. She doesn't know how to bite her tongue. That bratty little sister of mine, can you only imagine what thoughts go through her head? Jealousy, anger, possessiveness even? I wouldn't worry a bit about her harsh words. I'm just glad that you have a somewhat positive demeanor with your life, even though you have this illness..." I smile at her. I'm unsure why, but when she talks to me I feel a rush of comfort. I feel happy. Content.
While I'm thinking of it, a thought rushes through my head. I felt content with Owen at some point. I felt like Mariah was a friend.
They both proved me wrong without a second thought, so what do I have to learn here? Not to trust anyone anymore?
If I can't trust anyone anymore so easily, then where am I going to get with my life?

One thing that I believe I've always hated is how people act like everyone else is out to get them.
The world is a cruel place and only the finest can survive in it. The scum tho steal, kill, or abuse, they cheat at the game.
What game? Why do people believe these things? No one is purposely trying to harm you. If you let yourself believe that, that is your fault. I might not remember much but I remember some things. I know that a long time ago, our people had nothing. We lived in caves. Sometimes there would be creatures like bears causing issues, or even wolves. Then you have your occasional mountain lion.
Everyone came to help. It was a team effort performed by strangers who barely even knew each other, if they even knew their name. Why can't we be like that again? Why can't we care about the people in this world without even knowing them?
Why don't we want to learn the history of our family members before they're gone, or our neighbors, or strangers?
We truly have fallen from such great heights.

As I ponder over this, the kind woman talks to me. She tells me about how she's been working on figuring out why my body hasn't been trying to fight against the taint. She says she thinks that it isn't something we can see or deal with by science. She believes that it is some sort of spiritual disease inside of my own spirit. How would one go about healing it? There apparently have only been times when the Researchers use taint to physically harm someone or to infect them with it. In that case, it'd be much easier to heal it.
"So I'm broken," I say. "No," she tells me, "you're far from broken. You're only bruised. I'm going to help you heal, and then after that we can make sure that this doesn't happen again." I look up at her, "What do you mean?"
"We'll show them the good in life," she says with a soft smile.

Later that evening, John's familiar face comes into the room. "Knock knock," he says as he attempts to knock on the door without looking. He fails and knocks on air instead. I sit up, "Oh, hi. Where's your sidekick?" He sighs, "Off doing who knows what. I guess you'll have to deal with little ol' me to keep you company." I did forget to mention, John did visit me one of these previous nights.
His sidekick, who's name I learned to be Damian, was just oblivious. I say that because he looked like roadkill the entire time.
Maybe he just didn't care? He was covered in dirt and a bit of blood as well on his clothing. What an odd man.
"So," he said, "shall we continue our intense game of tic-tac-toe?" I shrug, "I'm not really interested in doing anything right now. I'm tired and feel like crap."He laughs, "And yet you begged me to play it with you earlier... I'm just messing with you. I actually came here to let you know that my sister heard about what was going on. She asked me to bring this to you." He sets a basket that I barely even noticed on the nightstand beside me and lifts a part of the cloth covering it. Fresh, warm, delicious smelling bread.

My eyes widen, "She had you bring this for me? She doesn't even know me..." He watches me for a moment.
"You aren't used to people being kind to you," he says, "are you?" I look up at him, "Oh, no, it isn't that. Plenty of people have been kind to me before... just not too many people who I have never even met. I didn't think people like that existed anymore. The ones who care for you even though they have no idea who you are." "Well," he says with a sly grin, "I might've talked about you over supper... and a few other times." I nudge him, "Well, thank you for your sympathy." I take a piece of bread out, thump him on the head with it playfully and eat. He moves his hand to stop me but pauses, "Er... Are you supposed to be eating anything? I promised her when she asked me to make sure I'm not poisoning you before a surgery or something like that." I shrugged, "I'm pretty much dead anyway. What do I have to lose?" "Don't talk like that," he says. I continue eating my fluffy cloud.

The very next day the nurse comes back into my room. "Good morning," she huffs. She drops a tray of supplies on the table beside my bed and demands that I get ready for her to take yet another blood sample since I didn't allow her to the previous day.
"Does the woman need another blood sample," I ask. The nurse cackles, "Sweetie, if I cared about what that piece of dead meat needed then I wouldn't be wasting your time with this nonsense. I'm taking blood samples for my own tests. That way it actually seems like I'm spending enough time with you and care about your well being, which I do not." I smile at her, "I wonder what its like to be a lonely and desperate hag like yourself." She hisses, "Shut your mouth or the next time I draw blood will be the day that I also shove bleach down your throat." I don't understand this girl. "Why would you say that your sister is dead when she isn't," I ask, "Or did you just say what you think in your own twisted reality? Tired of being overshadowed by her? Perhaps you're just tired of knowing how kind and intelligent of a woman she is, yet when you look at your own personality..."

She giggles, "You actually think she's brain-dead enough to be doing this without there being any risks? You've infected her. She is dying because of you. You're like a rodent. Crawling with diseases and bacteria. Who knows who your next victim will be. Those two boys? Maybe it'll even be the Researchers. Will you get your revenge on them? Or would you rather take your anger out on me instead?"
She gets up and without saying anything else, she grabs an empty syringe and tries to stab my arm with it.

The next thing I hear is her screech and I look to see John grabbing her wrist. "You forgot to get the medicine," he says.
Damian laughs, "You two and your cat fights... You act like a bunch of children." I look at him and my eyes widen.
"What," he asks. "You actually don't look like garbage," I say as I stare at him. I throw in a sarcastic gasp as well.
I can hear John trying not to laugh while letting out small snickers, and Damian watches me with an emotionless expression.
I look back at John and he laughs. The young nurse jerks her wrist out of his grip and cleans up her mess.
"What's your name, miss," he asks her. She looks at him, "Lizbeth. Why?" He sits on the side of my bed, "Don't worry about it," he says, "Now will you please excuse us?" "I'm the nurse," she scoffs, "You can't order me out of the room." "I can if it means that you'll lose your job if you don't leave," he tells her. (If only I knew how to have my eye twitch as well as she does. She acts like she actually has emotions.) She hisses some very harsh and unkind words and continues to leave the room.

I almost hate to say it, but I'm enjoying myself. Watching her suffer is pleasing to me.
Is that a bad thing..? Naaaahh.
​

 

[apex_leprechaun]

Fries are potatoes btw

 

[ArmenTheHeli]

the word dab was used
<o/

 

[TrueViolett]

Fries are potatoes btw

I know ;D

the word dab was used
<o/

Dab for us, Armen!

 

[TrueViolett]

Chapter 20.
Dying.

A few weeks pass by. John's visited every now and then, the kind nurse lady, who's name is actually Lucinda, has stopped by quite a few times each week to talk to me, and I've also been given a small assignment. Each day I am to walk around the room I'm in four times when I wake up. The reason for this isn't because I'm a lazy. For the past week, any pain that I felt before has gotten worse.
Any energy I manage to gain is drained out of me shortly after. Its so sudden and it causes ear piercing headaches.
I can't explain everything that I feel. Sometimes I even forget to breathe. It happens at least twice daily.
Its strange, I don't understand it, and I want it to end.

I sit at the foot of my bed and mess with a small string in my hand that is loose on my blanket. The nurse hasn't come into my room for the past three days. She hasn't said anything about why she's been absent within those three days either. She usually is here more often, though, as I said before. I look up at John as he enters the room. He sees me with the string wrapped and tied around my finger.
He goes to me, grabs my hand and jerks it away from the blanket so the string snaps.
"It'd be better for you to calm any anxiety by talking to someone about it," he says, "instead of cutting off blood circulation."
"It wasn't anxiety, you twit," I tell him. He chuckles, "Right."

I lay down and continue messing with the string. He sits on the side of my bed and thinks, looking at the ceiling.
Maybe he's uneasy as well as I am? What would he be worried about, anyway? He's obvious at this point. Something's on his mind.
"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you," I ask him, "or is the ceiling better at communicating than I am?"
He doesn't say anything for a while. I don't push him. Eventually he gets up and says, "Maybe tomorrow."
He goes to the door and opens it. "John?" He looks at me, "Huh," he asks.
I can tell he's eagerly wanting to avoid conversation right now. But, then, why did he even come here? What's the point?
I watch him, "Never mind. I just wanted to say 'Thanks' for keeping me company is all." He nods and says, "Sure thing. I'll be back tomorrow," and closes the door on his way out.
He doesn't come back.

Not tomorrow, the next day, or the next.
I won't even begin to wonder if I did something to offend him. The nurse hasn't come back yet either.
Well, actually, I vaguely remember her coming into my room late this evening while I was asleep. She gave me a fresh glass of water on my nightstand. I woke up, but I was still half asleep. She told me not to worry about what she was doing, so I went back to sleep rather quickly. I'm very tired as it is right now and its only morning. Actually, for every passing day, I seem to be losing more and more energy. I try keeping myself busy from these negative thoughts by reading, drawing, or making shapes out of the bumps in the ceiling. You know, the stupid stuff that a child who wanted to stay up past their bedtime would do.

I end up passing out. Later on, I wake up to a harsh grip on my shoulder. I look to see, at my surprise, an overly-impatient Damien with a sour look on his face towards mine. I look at his hand on my shoulder. "I bite," I tell him. He rolls his eyes, so I bite his wrist.
He could use a bath every now and then. He jerks his hand away, looks at it, and then chuckles to himself.
"You know, this is exactly why I don't wash my hands," he says. I don't understand what he means by that until later.
By then he's gone and I don't have the ability to wash my mouth out with cleaning supplies. No wonder John taunts him.
A disgusting and perverted man like himself wouldn't get anywhere in this world with that type of absurd behavior.

"What did you do to make John so miserable," he asks me.
I sigh, "Now what are you talking about?" "Look," he says, "I didn't let him bring you here just so you could break his heart."
"Again," I say to him, "what are you talking about?" "For some reason, he's convinced you're going to die any day now," he tells me.
I just watch him. "You're an idiot," I tell him, "If this is your way of joking with me, I don't think its funny."
"Hey, its your word against his. He told me that you were dying. Why would you tell him something like that? To hurt him?"
"I didn't tell him that," I reply, "I don't even know where it came from. I never heard of it until you said something about it."
He pauses and just watches me. "So wait," he says, "you didn't tell him?" I shake my head.
He backs off and walks to the door, "I see..." "Damien," I call his name. He picks up his dufflebag. I say his name again.
He opens the door, I say it yet again.

"What do you want," he huffs. I laugh, "I want to know what this is about me dying. What else would it be?"
He chuckles, "That isn't my problem, sorry. Now if you'll excuse me-." I get up grab his wrist. "I am not going to ask you again," I tell him. "You don't need to be so dramatic," he says. "So.. uh," he stutters, trying to find the right words to use, "I spoke with John. He said that 'she told me she was dying.' I thought that he meant you... but if not, then..." "Lucinda..?"
He looks at me, "Who?" "The nurse, dimwit," I say, "She's my nurse. She hasn't been in here for the past few days... Is that why?"
He shrugs, "Maybe. Hasn't she tried telling you about it?" "No," I answer, "not at all."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," he says, "..Not that I care. You'll be one less distraction from John and myself."
I just watch him as I slowly let go of his wrist. I open my mouth to talk, but instead I go and lie down.
"Alright," I say. He pauses and just watches me for a minute, sighs, and closes the door as he leaves.
I don't know if he was just attempting to show off or not, but I don't need to worry about it.
I know I'm not a distraction. I don't need their company; I don't need their sympathy.
I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of letting Owen prove that he's already won.
I am not going to die just to be reborn as a ruthless disease once more, with more pain to share with the world.
And if I even attempt to keep it all on myself, it only gets worse. I need it to stop.
Then I will gladly say goodbye.
​

 

[TrueViolett]

Chapter 21.
Rain.

Its raining.
There's rain outside. Its soothing. It hasn't rained much since I've been here. Sometimes the air seems humid when I open the window during the mornings, but not a single puddle to be found. Its relaxing, and also makes one curious. I decide to leave the room I'm in and go outside. They have a small area for injured or ill people to stay in. Its a building. The people here can do miracles with injuries, illness, whatever's the issue. I stand outside of the building, but the moment I step outside, a nurse grabs my arm.
"You mustn't be out here," she says, "You'll surely catch a cold! Oh, now, we can't let that happen! You, come with me!"
I huff and follow behind her with a rather uncaring expression.

I sit down on the side of my bed as she lectures me.
At least, I think that's what she's doing. I'm too busy watching the rain from outside of my window to tell.
Suddenly, she pulls the curtains across my point of view. Despicable. "YOU AREN'T EVEN LISTENING," she shouts.
I turn my head to look at her, "Ow." She just stares. "HMPH! If you're going to act so impolite, you shouldn't even be a patient here," she scowls me and then leaves. I move the curtains and look out of the small, square-shaped window.

"Doesn't it look nice out there," a voice says. I turn and see John standing at the door.
"Why did they drag y-" "Get out," I tell him. He doesn't even look at me, just at the window. Coward.
"Get out," I say it again, "Get out, get out, get out!" I stand up, "You lying, filthy snake! You never even cared to tell me!"
He shrugs, "I didn't lie. I just didn't say anything. I don't believe I'm filthy, either. I'm clean, would you like to see?"
I hiss, "DIDN'T I JUST TELL YOU TO GET OUT?" He chuckles, "Just because you said it doesn't mean I have to."
"Yes it does," I hiss some more. "Why do you want me to leave? I thought you'd be excited to see me," he says, "Especially when I'm trying to help you." Help me? How could this moron possibly help me?

I fold my arms and stare at him, "I'm not interested." "Oh," he says. That's it.
I just watch him. He sighs, "I'll go watch it myself, then." I step forward, "N-No-.. I want to see it, too."
He nods, "Hurry up, then." I follow him through the hallway and out a door that leads behind the building. I follow him.
We find a building with a large metal staircase leading up the side of it, with multiple platforms to stand on, and on the highest platform, there is a ladder which leads to the roof of the building. We climb up to the roof of the building and see a doorway. Right above the door's steps is a small part of the roof, where the concrete under it isn't wet. We sit there and watch the rain.

"You're an interesting person," he says. "I didn't follow you to talk. I'm still upset with you," I snap.
"What," he laughs, "why not just say that you're mad?" "If I were mad then I would've hit you by now for being annoying," I reply.
He turns his head to finally look at me, "I didn't tell you because I was upset with you as well. You aren't even trying. You sit there and do as they tell you, but you don't care if you didn't do it, do you? You don't care if you didn't take the medications, or the samples, or to walk, or to talk about how you feel, or anything. You just sit there like you're already dead. Well, you're not. But because of you being a lazy child, you only get worse and worse. You're letting anything that wants to harm you win against you because you decide to act weak. You aren't dead yet, but if you continue like this, you will be. Knowing that, and seeing the look on your face, you still seem like you don't care about that. You cared when you followed our trail in the woods, didn't you? That's why I helped you. But now you give up. I suppose you expect for me and him to do all of this for you, hm? Maybe even that woman, Lucinda?"

"How many insults do you have to throw at me before you finally shut up," I mutter under my breath.
"As many as it takes for you to act like a human being and not a worthless, obedient mutt," he says.
I laugh, "You don't even know the half of it! I AM trying. Do you know how afraid I am? Not even for you or myself, but for everyone else! If I die, this virus will spread and use my dead body to feed itself. I'll become its roots, and it'll continue spreading, killing more, making more roots. All my death will do is provide it with more and more! I can't do anything about this! I'm trying! The only way I know how to stop it from doing that is to never die, to suffer with it. To go through with it for as long as I can. To trap it, so that even when I do die, it can't leave my body. Do you not know how much it has begun to hurt me to get up? To walk? To move, even?
Even lying down and doing nothing hurts! The only time I can ever feel no pain is when I begin to feel weak, like I'm losing.
I feel like my body is being ripped apart by some wild dog, grabbing whatever it can and tossing it aside. And when I try to
heal myself, it never fully works, so all that happens is more and more of me is taken! I can't fight it, so what am I supposed to do?
All I can do is suffer, get yelled at, and insulted! Its fine, though! I know that I could easily kill you if I wanted to. I could give up, and this whole area would rot beneath your feet. You'd all become slaves to this plague, have you ever thought of that?
Heck, if I wanted to, I could probably abuse this power and-" His hand covers my mouth.

We sit there for a while, not speaking. Just watching the raindrops fall into the puddles.
This is just one big joke. I'm being babied by so many people. Half of the time I wonder if they're only doing this for their own safety.
Vanessa, Luncinda, John, the Blood Users and the Researchers, and-... "KISMET," I shout. My eyes widen, "KISMET?!"
John stares at me and grabs my arm, "Wh-What are you shouting for?" I jerk my arm out of his grip, "KISMET!"
I keep shouting his name. John pauses and stares at something else that has now gathered his attention.
I look down, there he is. Kismet, rubbing his head up against my bare foot.
I stare at him and pick him up, "Where have you been, you little rodent? Why didn't you come with me!"
I hear a laugh come from John, "So, you are a witch, hm? And a pretty stupid one, at that."
I look at him, "What are you going on about now?" He keeps laughing.
"Only an idiot owner would expect their familiar to just follow them. And they wouldn't forget about their familiar, either.
You almost act like you knew nothing of it until just now."

"I was given him out of nowhere," I tell him, "I apparently had him before-.." I stop talking.
"It isn't your business," I tell him. He nods and sits back, leaning against the door. "Is that right? Fine then. If you won't answer that, then at least be a dear girl and answer me something else." "Fine," I say, "what is it?"
"Well," he says, "lets see. While you were going off on your part of the rant, I learned something. Not only are you everything I said that you were," "Just get to the point," I tell him. I pick Kismet up in my arms, turn around, and watch him.

"You also complain a lot," he says, "You say you aren't afraid for yourself. I don't know you well, but I know you aren't that stupid.
So then, if insults don't matter to you, answer me this. Why are you lying?"​

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