I am dead.
This is how I feel, this is what I
know, but a small part of me refuses to believe it. Wasn't I alive
just yesterday? I have a doctor's appointment to go to next week
and I need to leave a reminder for my office manager. He's
forgetful and even though I told him about this a month ago, he
won't remember.
But, no, I don't have a doctor's
appointment next week. That's already past. It's been four months,
two weeks, and three days since the day I should've gone to the
doctor. It was only a routine check up, anyways. Not absolutely
necessary, but it would have provided peace of mind.
My mind is anything but peaceful now.
I don't know if I still have one.
...
Five months ago I was sitting on my
couch eating take-out Chinese and watching the news. I never knew
why I enjoyed watching the news, but it seemed like the adult thing
to do, you know? Granted, wearing my pajama pants with cartoon
versions of cats and a grey athletic t-shirt didn't help my
illusion of adulthood. Nor did eating directly out of the lo mein
carton with a pair of wooden chopsticks, but still. Sometimes it's
good to feel more adult, even if the rest of your life isn't
exactly there.
There was a breakthrough announcement
on the news that night, too. I remember them hyping it up at the
beginning, saying it could change the face of humanity as we knew
it. Dutifully, I watched through dull segments involving a local
bake sale and a church's outrage at a movie theatre refusing to
remove a supposedly risque poster from their front lobby. Maybe I
should've switched the channel, though.
What did this breakthrough
announcement have to do with me? Was it another cell phone? I loved
my cell phone as much as the next person, but the way they came out
with new ones every year(and they always have new features that
seem suspiciously like the old ones), I would never understand why
people got so excited about those things. I wanted mine to work, I
wanted to call people on it, and I'd like to be able to
occasionally text someone and maybe check my email.
The announcement wasn't about a phone,
though. I stabbed a potsticker with my chopsticks and nibbled on
the edges while some NASA scientist explained their newest
discovery.
Hibernation, hypothermia, an isolated
virus that could mimic these conditions at a safe level. Once they
finished with more rounds of experimentation, they could use this
knowledge for extended space travel. The goal was to induce a type
of suspended animation in astronauts so they could travel to
distant planets with minimal necessities.
It sounded like a bunch of Star Trek
mumbo jumbo to me. I'm not stupid, I graduated college with a
marketing degree, but this had nothing to do with me. In a hundred
years when people finally colonized Mars and someone built a
restaurant chain up there, they could call me in to help figure out
their branding, but none of this affected me right now.
This was what I thought then. In four
days, everything changed.
...
I wander through the city, confused. I
am cold beyond belief and nothing I can do will warm me up. I try
holding my hands tight against my chest and huddling on the ground,
but it doesn't help. I've tried putting on more clothes, but this
doesn't work, either. I've tried taking off my clothes, too. I go
inside and outside, but no.
My skin is a pale blue like the color
of pure water. I feel sick and I know I should go see a doctor, but
there are no doctors anymore; not for me or anyone like me. I am
one of them and I am hated. I understand this, but I don't want
it.
It's hard to walk sometimes, but other
times I manage it fine. I feel clumsy, as if I've had too much to
drink at the bar, but I don't think I've had alcohol for months. I
can't remember.
And then it happens.
As much as I feel it, I'm not alone. A
majority of the people surrounding me are like me, but different.
They give in to their urges or they think differently, or there's
something that separates me from
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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