"A New Disease" - Contest #10

"A New Disease"
(the tenth ACW monthly writing contest)

Assignment:
Write a story or poem using the
following title: "A New Disease"
2500 words or less.

Deadline:
June 15, 2002

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A New Disease
by H.J. Lazarus
lazdom@ono.com
(Entry #3)

~Winning Entry~

“Captain.” Sgt. Moore’s habitually bland expression was tinged with grey concern, alerting Captain Hummel to the gravity of the situation much more than his sudden presence in the main office. After a brief salute, Captain Hummel gestured brusquely with his chin towards his inner office. They entered, Hummel closing the door behind them.

“What’s the situation, Sergeant?” Hummel asked calmly, inwardly preparing for the worst.

“The doctors still don’t know much,” the sergeant shifted uncomfortably, “So far the only information they have is that we’re dealing with a new disease, unlike any we’ve ever encountered. They are trying to discover the cause of the outbreak, assuming it is some particularly virulent form of a virus, but due to the deteriorated condition of the victims, making connections at this point has been rather difficult.”

“A virus?” Captain Hummel began moving restlessly around the room, “Has a biological attack been ruled out?”

“Not entirely. From outward appearances it would be the most logical explanation, but our agents assure us that no orders have been issued by other governments in that respect. It could be a random terrorist attack, however…” Sergeant Moore paused.

“However?”

“They haven’t actually declared it a virus. We are referring to it as such because of the sudden outbreak, which seems to be somehow spreading, but so little is known about it that they want to be careful not to jump to any conclusions.”

“What are the symptoms?”

“Primarily dementia, erratic behavior rapidly deteriorating into uncontrollable fury within hours after the first symptoms are noted. The victims, overwhelmed by rage, eventually cause their own violent deaths, often killing others in the process. We have been trying to detect cases as early as possible and place them in controlled isolation where they can do no harm to themselves or others. Past a certain point, though, the dementia further deteriorates into psychotic coma, and within thirty-six hours all bodily functions merely cease.” Sergeant Moore said quietly.

“Thirty-six hours,” Captain Hummel muttered under his breath, slowly processing the information. “How rapidly is it spreading?”

“We can’t know for sure, but there have been over one hundred cases detected in the last forty-eight hours, sir.”

“Right,” Captain Hummel said with a determination he did not feel, “Inform Dr. Platt that I will be expecting a complete report within the hour. I will explain the situation to the General. Put everyone on general alert until further orders are issued”

“Yes sir,” the sergeant turned and left, comforted by the direct order.

The captain, unfortunately, did not share the sentiment. A lifetime dedicated to military service, a spotless record earning him the admiration of the lower ranks. And yet, at times of crisis like this he was nothing more than a messenger, a gopher between countless members of lower ranks and the grisly general who would rather not know anything about them. The general liked to think about Master Plans, Big Battles and Major Strategies. He certainly did not appreciate being interrupted by anything besides a war. And this time the message was particularly ugly, one the general would not like at all. Resignedly, he put on his jacket and headed off to bear the bad news.

A knock at the door broke the grim silence between Captain Hummel and General Stuart. The general had earned the name ‘Steely Stuart’ by keeping his cool under the bloodiest battle conditions. He could screen out all distractions, elude all obstacles between him and his objective; obliterating the enemy. But a virus? How could he fight against an invisible evil? Now faced with an enemy he couldn’t shoot down, he felt all sense of control slipping away. Although if there was a group behind it, someone out there responsible for it all, then he’d know what to do. Staring out his office window at the troops below doing their military exercises he barked “Enter!”, his back still to the door.

A skinny lieutenant came in with an exceedingly firm salute and the results from Dr. Platt’s initial investigation. The general continued to stare out the window, physically defying the situation. Captain Hummel took the envelope and dismissed the lieutenant. He read the report; shaking his head unconsciously.

“Well?” General Stuart said in his gravelly voice, glancing towards him sharply.

“They are still referring to it as a virus, although they have ruled out biological warfare.”

“No chance of it being a terrorist attack?” the general asked, turning quickly around, his voice showing his disappointment. The enemy once again became invisible.

“No,” the captain’s voice faltered despite himself, “not exactly. “

“Not exactly? Are we being attacked or not?”

“They have decided that the cause of the outbreak is external.”

“External?” the general shouted, exasperated, “What the hell do you mean with external?”

The captain gestured toward the report, “They mean that it’s not from this planet.”

The general scowled and began to pace. “That’s just perfect. They have no idea what is going on, so they claim we’re being attacked from outer space?”

Captain Hummel cleared his throat slightly, “They don’t think it seems to be an attack, exactly. They have been interviewing victims in the first stages of the dementia, and they all seem to describe contact with some sort of small creature, like a hairless rodent more or less. Supposedly they’re benign, smooth and clawless. There have been no complaints of being bitten or attacked, so it remains unclear how these, eh, space rodents pass on the virus. The doctors admit that the ‘space creature theory’ might merely be a common hallucination from the dementia, although for now it is our only lead.”

The general bristled and continued to pace angrily. He couldn’t decide if things were getting better or worse. “Issue orders for a Code Blue. Tell the patrols to prepare for a sweep. If we get any further confirmation of this space plague, we’re heading out for a major clean-up operation.”

“Yes sir,” the captain replied, heading off once again as the messenger.

An hour later, the general had just rung off with the President, assuring him in blatant military double-speak that everything was completely under control without actually lying, when Captain Hummel returned to his office.

“Any news?”

“Yes sir.” Captain Hummel said quickly. “It seems the space creature theory was pretty much on the mark, unfortunately. Small space ships have been washing up on the coasts, some of them filled with hundreds of these dead creatures. We don’t know how many of them might have landed successfully, but a lot of them don’t seem to have survived the trip” he smiled.

“Any clue as to what they are?” the general asked, grimacing in disgust.

“Yes sir. They seem to have included an encrypted message in the databanks of their ships, explaining their plight. Seems that life on their own planet had become unsustainable and they were forced to make a desperate voyage in hopes of some sort of new life.
These little creatures seem to have all sorts of psychic powers that they themselves cannot control, and when we come into contact with them they somehow transmit their constant dementia to us. Our systems are not able to withstand such an overload and we pretty much self-destruct,” the captain said, shaking his head sadly.

“And where do the little buggers come from?” the general asked crossly, scratching his third eye.

“They call themselves Homo Sapiens, although the planet they claim to come from is not on any of our charts.”

“Well, it’s time to send those little creeps back where they came from,” the general grinned, and with a dramatic swoosh of his oozy tail slid out the door.

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A New Disease
Alternate Title: The Hallelujah Bug
by Virginia Kent
virginiakent@yahoo.com
(Entry #4)

~Runner Up~

Sheriff Travis Parker sat behind his desk, glaring at his deputy, Jake Walters. "How come you didn't arrest that degenerate, Lucky Leighton, like I told you to?"

Jake grinned, the skin under his lower lip pulling taut over a lump of chewing tobacco. "Shoot, chief. Lucky made me an offer I couldn't refuse. But don't worry, I was planning to cut you in on it." Jake reached inside his vest and pulled out a wad of bills.

Travis stormed around his desk, grabbed Jake by the collar, and pulled him up so his face was an inch away from his own. "You keep your filthy money. The time has come for you to decide whether you're going to stay with the sheriff's office or not. If you're not going to do your job, you might as well go to work full-time for Lucky. And before long, I'll be locking you in a cell right along with him."

Travis pushed Jake back into the chair. "Get out of here."

Jake straightened his collar and hat, and slowly stood. Travis thought for a moment that Jake might tackle him, but he turned and swaggered towards the door. Jake spat a stream of tobacco juice at the antique spittoon Travis kept in the corner, almost making the target. He left, slamming the door behind.

#

Travis poked at his green bean casserole with his fork. Whoops and yells from the bars on Main Street drifted up to the house, spoiling his appetite.

"Travis, honey? Is everything all right? Is there something wrong with the food?" His wife Maude looked and sounded concerned.

"Just the usual, sugar. Those goddam crooks have the run of the town, and it's getting worse all the time. I arrest them, and Judge Frampton lets them walk. The mayor's been lining his pockets, too. Now my own men are getting drawn in by it. This town's overrun with gambling and whores and drugs, and I can't seem to do a goddam thing about it."

Their son looked up from his plate, eyebrows raised, and Maude shot a glare at Travis.

Travis slammed his fork down. "For Christsakes, Maude, it's not anything he hasn't heard before! I'm sure he's seen plenty of it already. Bobby, any of those women from town tried to get you in bed with them?"

Bobby turned red. "Well, geez, Dad. Sure."

Maude gave a little shriek and covered her mouth with her hands.

"Golly, Mom, don't worry. They want an awful lot of money. But you know I'm saving up for a motorcycle."

Maude started to cry.

#

"Hatchettville, population 9,500. At first glance, an average American small town. But a closer look reveals that this town is a haven for crime, and local law enforcement is powerless to stop it. Tonight's KFAQ Special Report takes a look at the lawlessness in Hatchettville and the corruption behind it."

The camera crew was filming the spot from a hill overlooking town, and the wind blew the reporter's red hair around her face.

Travis had called a TV station from the state capital, and they had sent a crew to interview him and tape a hidden camera sequence. After shooting the opener, they went down into town to film the interview in the sheriff's office.

Bonnie MacGuire, the reporter, started the interview. "Sheriff Parker, how long have you lived in Hatchettville?"

"I was born here, went to work for the sheriff's office after I finished high school, and I've been the sheriff myself for the past ten years. This was a clean town when I was growing up, full of good, hardworking people, and it breaks my heart to see all this filth: drugs, prostitution, gambling, right out in the open on the streets and in every bar. And hundreds of outsiders pass through every day to partake."

Travis told of how the criminals had started moving in and law abiding citizens had started moving away during the last five years, how they couldn't even keep a preacher in town, and how people in positions of power accepted bribes to let the vice continue. Travis was the only town employee willing to take a stand against it. He'd even contacted the FBI for assistance, but they'd said it sounded like an issue for local law enforcement to handle. "I hope putting this on TV will get Hatchettville some help. I don't know who it's going to be, the governor or the National Guard or what, but we need help and fast."

Afterwards, Bonnie MacGuire and Travis chatted. "That was a great interview. Thanks for calling us, this story is going to be huge. We'll air the segment on Thursday during the six o'clock news."

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"Frank, our camera man, is planning to go into town tonight wearing a hidden camera. Any suggestions on where he should go?"

"Tell him to just walk down Main Street. I'm sure someone will offer him amphetamines and sex before he's gone twenty feet."

Travis said good-bye to the TV crew with a feeling of immense relief. Everything was going to pop after this. He was glad the TV station had sent such a good reporter.

#

On Thursday evening, Travis left Maude and Bobby at the dinner table while he tuned in to the six o'clock news. He chewed his cuticles through the lead story, weather, and sports until the anchor said, "Stay tuned for a KFAQ Special Report, coming up next."

"Maude! Bobby! It's about to start!" They came running into the den.

Travis grabbed Maude's knee. The commercials ended and Bonnie MacGuire appeared on the screen. Travis's heart thumped. "This is it."

Bonnie stood on a hill overlooking a town, her red hair blowing in her face. "Strip malls: they've become part of the landscape in virtually every American urban and suburban area, and now they're moving into rural areas as well. But are these meccas of capitalism causing the demise of traditional American small-town culture? Tonight's KFAQ Special Report takes a look."

Travis stopped breathing. He felt a dagger of ice shoot through his spine. "They pulled the piece."

"Now, Travis--" Maude started.

"I can't believe they PULLED the GODDAM PIECE!"

"Maybe they just postponed it. Why don't you give them a call?"

Travis picked up the phone and dialed KFAQ. "This is Sheriff Parker from Hatchettville. You were supposed to run our story this evening... Let me speak with Bonnie MacGuire... Well then, let me speak to the station manager... Well, go ahead and put me on hold, but I'm not hanging up until I find out what's going on." Travis covered the mouthpiece. "They're checking."

Several minutes later he heard a click. "Hello?" he said. A few moments later he heard a dial tone. "Got disconnected."

He hung up and re-dialed. "This is Sheriff Parker, we got-- Well, I'll be damned." He put the phone in the cradle and turned to Maude. "They hung up on me."

#

Travis tossed and turned all night. He wondered whether Lucky had threatened the TV station, or just paid them off. Either way, it boiled down to the same thing. He thought about moving his family away, but the very idea made him furious. "This is my town! MY town!" he thought. Somehow, he would find a way to save Hatchettville.

#

"Say, Dad? This guy from LA might call you," Bobby said the next evening at dinner.

"What are you talking about, son?"

"Well, I was online playing Masters of the Middle Kingdom, and I'd been killed so I was waiting for the next round, and so I was telling these guys about what it's like here, with all the crime and stuff. And this one guy says that he goes to UCLA, and he might want to do some kind of case study or something. So I gave him our number. Was that okay? I mean, it was going to be on the news and stuff, it's not like it's a secret."

"I guess that's fine," Travis said.

The call came at eight that evening. "Sheriff Parker? This is Preston Mills. I'm a neurophysiology graduate student at UCLA. Bobby said he'd mention I'd be calling. Mind if I ask a few questions? I appreciate your time."

Preston listened as Travis described the situation in Hatchettville. "Sounds just about how Bobby described it," he said. "Listen, I'm working on a project, and the situation you have there really has me intrigued. I think I might even be able to help you out. Can we meet tomorrow, in person? I'll catch a red-eye out there and drive in to Hatchettville in the morning."

Travis agreed, figuring he had nothing to lose.

#

The next morning, they met at the Scrambled Egg Diner for breakfast. Travis spotted Preston instantly. Preston was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt and looked very out of place for Hatchettville.

"So what brings you out here, Preston? Kind of a long way to come just to see a bunch of lowlifes. Don't you have this kind of stuff in LA?"

"Admittedly, yes. But the situation here seems... unique." Preston leaned over the eggs and pancakes and lowered his voice. "I've isolated an agent which I believe cures antisocial behavior." He glanced around, then pulled a small vial from his fanny pack.

"What's that, some kind of a new drug?"

"Actually, a new disease. It's a virus that creates an inflammation in the temporal lobes of the brain. I've done tests on monkeys and rats, but I'd like to observe its effects on humans."

"And how is this supposed to help us?"

"Temporal lobe stimulation is associated with spiritual experiences... with religious visions, and feelings of being at peace with the universe."

"So if you infect people with this virus, they'll hear the voice of God and lay down their lives of crime?"

"Something like that. I hope." Preston leaned in to Travis again. "Sheriff Parker... Travis. I know you've got a difficult situation here. And I know the last person you expected help from is some kid from California your son met on the Internet. But it sounds to me like you're out of options."

Travis considered. It was true; he was out of options. But it seemed so drastic... so irresponsible. "Is it reversible? treatable? contagious?"

"There are only a few options for treating viruses, and from the animal experiments, it seems that there's no cure for this one. But it's not contagious."

"Can't you set up human experiments in the laboratory?"

"Well, frankly Travis, it takes a lot of money to do that, and even if I could secure the grants, I wouldn't want to risk my reputation without knowing what's going to happen on a human first. The rats and monkeys seem more docile... more introspective, if such a thing is possible in an animal. But there's no telling what's going to happen in a human. Once I find out, I'll probably sell it to the government and let them do the real testing."

"Isn't this... well... unethical?"

"Oh, completely," said Preston, finishing off his last bite of eggs. "So... have anyone in mind?"

#

"Break-nine, do you copy me, Deputy?"

"Roger that, Sheriff," Jake replied over the CB.

"Return to headquarters, Deputy. Over and out."

Jake arrived within fifteen minutes. "You wanted something, boss?"

"Have a seat, Jake." Jake sat. "I've been thinking about that offer you made me the other day. On that shake you got from Lucky."

"Well, I done spent it already, but there's plenty more where that came from."

Travis reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of brandy.

"I'd like you to take this to Lucky. Sort of a little peace offering. See if maybe we can strike a deal."

Jake gave a tobacco-stained grin. "Now you're talking, chief! I'll take this over to him now. I knew it was just a matter of time before you came around." Jake stood and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Jake?" Jake turned around. "Go ahead and have a glass with him. In fact, take the rest of the afternoon off."

#

Travis brought Preston home that evening. After dinner, Preston showed Bobby a few tricks on Masters of the Middle Kingdom. Travis tried to watch TV, but his mind kept wandering.

At midnight, Maude and Bobby went to bed, and Travis and Preston drove in Preston's rented Taurus down to Main Street to see if they could spot Lucky or Jake.

They sat until five in the morning, not talking much. Then, Travis nudged Preston, who had started to doze. "There he is. That's Lucky."

Lucky had emerged from his apartment over the Good Times bar. He stepped out into the street, walking slowly and stiff-legged.

"Did he take it? Can you tell?" Travis asked.

"Not sure," Preston replied. "Let's keep watching."

Lucky walked jerkily down the middle of Main Street. Then he threw himself face down in the street and started to howl. Travis and Preston could hear him yelling from their stakeout.

"I've done sinned, Lord! Oh sweet Jesus forgive me, I've been such a bad, bad, man!"

Preston looked at Travis. "I guess it worked."

Jake Walters came out of the apartment and threw his arms wide. "HALLELUJAH, Lord, I done seen the light! I done been saved! Hallelujah Jesus!"

"You know what I'm thinking?" said Travis. "I'm thinking about throwing this town a keg party."

#

Three months later, Travis sat on the porch with Maude, swinging in the glider. Although whoops and yells still drifted up from the town, they weren't coming from the bars on Main Street, because there were no more bars in Hatchettville. The Good Times bar, where Lucky had reigned, was now the Good News chapel, and the Reverend Lucky Leighton presided over services.

"Things sure are peaceful around here these days," Travis said. He smiled at Maude. "Although it's still pretty noisy."

From down on Main Street, Lucky's voice rang out, and the congregation hollered in reply. "Can you gimme Hallelujah?!"

THE END

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Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.

A New Disease
by rcberry_1@hotmail.com

#1 of 8

The book sold amazingly well. It probably should have been expected; after all, how many vampires write an autobiography? Thanks to Father Joe, Clyde could now travel in the daytime, as long as he kept his exposure to the light at a minimum. Modern technology in the making of sunglasses did wonders for our poor neck biter.

Most people have a hard time remembering back just a few years. Imagine trying to recall over two hundred and thirty years! Ok, that isn’t really fair; he did sleep for two hundred of those years, thanks to that Indian mystic. He started from what he could recall of his childhood. Even then he got in trouble for trying to attack the little girls at school. That was when his mom decided to teach him at home. Education was not compulsory then, so she did nothing unusual. When he described his trip to the States, or ‘The new land’, as he called it, it was quite brief. He remembered being boxed up and the heaving and throbbing of the boat ride. That was a mess. Although able to keep everything down, it was still a sickening ride. There is little that could be worse than to be seasick in a coffin trapped inside a sealed wooden crate. Although, when his friend, at the train station, finally unpacked him, the first whiff he got did not help any. In the middle eighteen hundreds, Chicago was the center for meat packing. The train depot for freight, was not that far away from the stockyards. Poor Clyde, he just leaves a seesaw boat ride, takes the washboard freight line, and is opened by the stockyards. This is not a very nice way to treat lonely vampires.

The last chapter of his book concludes with his run in with the mystic and then almost kissing the underside of an eighteen-wheeler. Father Joe helped him with this section because it was dealing with things unheard of in Clyde’s day. Eighteen wheels implied a gypsy caravan and top speed was maybe 5 miles an hour, and that was pushing it. He learned that the semi was probably doing close to 60. That sort of explains his reaction when he was asked about the encounter on the interstate, “See it? Hell, I never even suspected it”! Clyde wrote a letter home explaining his trials in the new country. Unfortunately his mail wound up in the dead letter bin. Yes, this book garnered attention.

Even more attention came when he started to attend book signings. Once the public realized that he could travel during the day, invitations started coming in for lectures. His literary agent found him an agent that could secure bookings for his lectures, and could help him write and arrange his notes. It was decided to start at the local level, with the high schools, and go from there. Of course, after the speech, the first question always was, “Show me your fangs”. Good thing he brushed his teeth today. After his first appearance, he had photos handed out prior to beginning the lecture. The fang question never came up again. Of course that could have been because he touched the photos up with a couple of drops of red paint in just the right places.

As his skills as an orator improved, and his nervousness level decreased, his range of schools was expanded. Clyde started to lecture at some of the schools in the rougher neighborhoods. The aftereffects were stunning, crime went down and the Red Cross reported record blood bank sales. He made it to the big leagues. The college circuit wanted him. But traveling to the east coast would be tricky. Remember, he has not had a bite to eat for a long time! Again it was Father Joe to the rescue. He asked Clyde if a blood transfusion would help, instead of drinking supper from whomever was available.

It would be safer. You never know what you could catch these days and after dark, the grade-A prime dinners were usually in bed, so that did not leave a large supply available.

The idea was good, but how do you tell the blood type of a vampire? The doctors at the hospital were baffled; his type did not match anything. Fortunately one of the interns performing the tests had crossed over from veterinary practice to humans. He quickly realized the match. Good thing this was Chicago. Once everything was setup, Clyde laid down on the table and the tubes were run from him to the Goat on the other table. The procedure only took a few minutes, but he needed to rest for a short bit. In the meantime, the goat woke up and saw what was happening. One look at Clyde and ole nanny brayed, “Feet do your stuff, lets get the flock out of here!!!” Not much could have held him back. With hoof prints up his back and down his chest, the doctor calmly said, “Guess he didn’t like it here”. By the way, they caught the goat on the corner of Belmont and Addison, a good thirty blocks away.

Clyde, now re-fortified, was put on a daily diet of goat’s milk. They packed up and headed to Boston. His first lecture was in front of genetic researchers. These learned professors and students had read his book and were prepared with a lot of questions. The one he could not answer was, “Do you remember who bit you, thus turning you into a vampire in the first place”. His memory was sharp, but nothing like that had ever happened to him. After the lecture, he attended a conference in his honor. Numerous questions surfaced and it all centered on how he first became what he was. It did not fit the pattern. Clyde agreed to take a battery of tests. What they discovered surprised all of them.

Now we know that his blood would test to match the goat. But a detailed study of his genetic make up showed some real abnormalities, even for a vampire. They asked Clyde if he had any brothers or sisters. One of each, he told them. No, they never mentioned being bitten by anyone or anything either. They went through his childhood with a fine-tooth comb. It was beginning to look like something he may have inherited. Weakened from all the tests, he was allowed to go to lunch. “Are you going to have a little hamburger with that ketchup”? Buried under half a bottle of the red stuff was a hamburger, but it was barely visible. After a few bites, Clyde was back to his jovial old self.

The scientists put their heads together. Then, after taking some aspirin (they put their heads together a little too hard), they got down to the analyses. They were closing in on the problem. It looked to be something involving the skeletal structure. But, to prove it they needed a sample of Clyde’s bone marrow. “Hey, if you can help me, I’ll take out a few, I probably have extra, and you can have them”. They did not need the whole bone, just a little of the center of one. A few hours and a couple of cases of ketchup later, they reached a conclusion that whatever it was, did involve the bones, but they still could not put a finger on the cure. Clyde walked in about that time, dribbling ketchup from his beard. “Sorry, I’ll clean that up”. “Wait!” As everyone watched in amazement, the one petri dish was returning to normal. Our local genetic engineer studied his notes and wrote down what chemicals had been applied to that sample. Now the fun part comes. They had a cure but there was only one person affected. Would he be willing to be the living guinea pig? Defying all medical standards, this dedicated group formulated a bottle of pills.

They had taken copious notes, and given a name to his disease. In pure scientific tradition, Clyde suffered from Red Hemoexoria. In layman’s terms, it was a malfunction in the blood making process that needed a special chemical to cure, but it only worked if it was ingested with a glass of ketchup for the catalyst. The true test would be in the sunlight, but he was instructed not to try that until he had been on the pills for at least a month. Looks like Clyde should buy stock in Hunt’s. They did not have the luxury of time to do a full study. Would just any brand of Ketchup work? How often should he take the pills? Since the students did this as an extra experiment, Clyde agreed to start with a daily regimen of three pills and two bottles of ketchup a day. As his body became adjusted to the pills, he could try using different brands of ketchup, including generic. If his body could tolerate this, then next would be to see if he could alter the amount of pills.

A few months down the road, Clyde reported that he could use any ketchup and that he was down to one pill a day. In the meantime, one of the scientists had done a little more research into what was actually in the pills. The holidays were fast approaching so he had taken a small batch of the medicine home to continue the studies. Sitting behind his desk, he opened the bottle and one of the pills accidentally fell into his drink. It dissolved and could not be visibly detected. Well, he was planning on using his expertise in the botany field so he pulled down a book that listed the chemical compound of cranberry juice. It did not match the pills but was very close. His next step was to take the jar that he had poured his drink from and examine the label. “Ok, this is not pure juice”. He took the jar to the lab and did a spectrographic analyze. He then did the same with the pills.

Clyde called the school’s lab to request more pills. He had heard a rumor that in this country, everyone virtually hibernates from Halloween to after the first of the year. He only had enough to last until the middle of November. It was then that he was given the good news that his pills were the same as cranberry juice cocktail. Well, Clyde has been put on a very unique diet, ketchup, goat cheese, and cranberry juice. How will he do?

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A New Disease
by Craig Murray
cmurray@the-murray-group.com

#2 of 8

“What do you mean he’s dead?”
“Exactly what I said, listen, I just…I mean…He’s dead.”
The silence hung between them as this newest bit of life's painful trivia filled the gap. She sobbed quietly as short gasps and sharp intakes of breath punctuated the silence.
“How?”
“He killed himself.”
“Noooooo!” she screamed before breaking down into near hysterics. Andrew hadn’t expected a response as intense as this, if he had known, he wouldn’t have done it over the phone. He tried desperately to break through her wall of grief, to try to calm her down but it wasn’t working.
“Why, oh why? I should have seen it, I should have known…”
“But none of us knew, none of us could have…”
“Yes we should have known. We were his friends, his best friends and still…”
“But it’s never obvious like that, everything you read…”
“Read? Read? Is that all this is, a curious intellectual exercise? The death of a friend is nothing more than a psychology paper or…”
“Shut up! What the hell do you know; you don’t know how I feel. Goddammit how dare you!”

Again there was the silence, unbroken, painful and afraid to be broken. The two of them had lashed out at each other, attacked and fought and bit in an attempt to lessen the pain they were sharing. If they had been together they may even have lashed out, struck or swiped at each other. Physical responses to an anguish of the soul.

“But how?” she groaned. “Why? He had everything, everything was going perfectly for him? He must have been murdered.”
“He wasn’t murdered.”
“How can you know that? You can’t be sure of that, you can’t be sure of anything. What did the police say, they must have said something, you called the police didn’t you?”
“Of course I called the police. It was the first thing I did, well the second anyway.”
“What do you mean the second?”
“Well I tried to get him down, I jumped up on the table and pushed him upwards by his legs but it was no use, I couldn’t lift him.”

She had started crying again. Long painful wracking sobs as she realised that he was dead and that he had hung himself. Her mind swam with watery horrific images of a dangling body with the face of her friend. She wanted to curl into a ball, to plug her ears and scream until it all went away. She couldn’t believe it, she refused to believe it. This gentle man, this innocent soul has ripped himself out of existence at a time when everything seemed perfect for him. He had sold his company for a fortune, he had started doing all the things that his new wealth and freedom had brought him and he had met a wonderful girl. She had slid into his life with the softness of a favourite sweater. She had loved him and he had loved her with every fibre of their beings. All you had to do was look at them; just glance in their direction and you could tell that love in its truest form had entered the room. He had lead such a disciplined life before this. He had denied himself s much, refused himself every comfort as he searched after his dream. He was focused, he was dedicated, he was not one for flights of fancy. And now he was dead. Slowly, painfully she gathered herself together and tried to speak. At first her mouth was thick and sticky and the words came out as jumbled slurs. She sniffed, she coughed, she wiped the tears that soaked her face and then she tried again.

“What happened next?”
“I tried to get him down but I couldn’t so then I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife and cut the cord but I still couldn’t…”

It was his turn now. The horrific images of his friends’ corpse blotted out everything else. No one dies happily; it’s no escape no matter how you do it. It’s ugly, it’s disgusting and it’s final.
His face had always been strong; it had always been the face of a leader. It was how he would have wanted to be remembered. However in death he had left himself a mask, a parody of sick caricature. The cord had bitten deeply into the soft flesh and his face had become mottled and dark. His mouth was open in a perpetual and silent scream while a bloated tongue poked forward like some obscene worm. It was not these obvious signs that proved to his friend that he was dead, it was something worse. The stain that ran down his pants had marked a final indignity as the body gave up it’s final vestiges of respect.

“So what happened next?” she repeated breaking the images in his mind.
“I left him on the table and phoned 911. They really were pretty quick I guess, I mean it seemed that a few minutes after I called suddenly in walked a couple of cops and some paramedics.”
“But are you sure maybe it wasn’t meant to just look like a suicide, I mean he had everything.”
“No he did do it…”
“But why, why would he? He had her, she was everything to him, for the first time in his life…”
“And that was the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think he could take being in love, at least not to any great degree.”
“That’s ridiculous, I mean…”
“No listen, that’s what happened, he couldn’t accept how much he loved, how it made him feel, the loss of control, the change of priority…”
“What the hells that supposed to mean? Is that some paper you read? You don’t kill yourself over loving too much, that’s the dumbest…”
“He left a note for christs sake!”
“What does it say?”
“I copied it down because the police wanted it.”

There was a slight pause, a rustling of paper and then he began to read.

A beating heart my bloody pulse
I long for yesterday
My mind is blank my mouth is dry
my feet are made of clay

I stagger through the day and night
I bob and slide and jig
My hairs askew my skin is tight
stretched round my bony rig

I cannot stand it anymore
I don’t know what to say
I’ve heard the piper give his tune
and now it’s time to pay

I would not have it be like this
I could not stand it so
For you have taken everything
and now I have to go

I think about you all the hours
at toil or at ease
For you my love can only be
my certain new disease

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A New Disease
by H.J. Lazarus
lazdom@ono.com

#3 of 8
Winner

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A New Disease
Alternate Title: The Hallelujah Bug
by Virginia Kent
virginiakent@yahoo.com

#4 of 8
Runner-up

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A New Disease
by blackmetalsun@yahoo.com

#5 of 8

”The Earth is spinning the same way as always and the moon, like an ancient goddess, watches over the whole world. Everything seems the same, but for me everything has changed…

I am what they call a biologist, but for me it was more than that… it was my passion, my life. I’ve said “it was” because I don’t know if I can continue doing that after all that happened. I was working until late in my laboratory, which was a usual thing. A friend had just given me a DNA map, indicating the genes for emotions. I was experimenting generating emotions using a compound and not an image or an object, so this DNA map was a big step forward. Using some pheromones I was able to generate a new potion which was meant to stimulate the emotional side of the brain and inhibit the rational side. Since the potion was created using a human DNA map, I had to test it on a human subject and what better subject than myself. So, I’ve drank the potion…

I haven’t sensed any unusual emotion, so I thought that I’ve failed. It was almost morning, so I’ve decided to go home and rest for a few hours. On my way home I’ve noticed the changes, but I haven’t paid to much attention.

The soft wind was playing with my hair and on the sky the clouds seemed to be set on fire. It was so quiet that I almost could have heard them running on the sky, trying to get away from that globe of fire which was rising victorious, disintegrating the last remains of mystery. When I’ve got home, my soul was filled with emotions, but I didn’t associate them with my potion. When I woke up I was looking outside while drinking the coffee. It was raining and a tree seemed to mock the rain. Teardrops were falling over the leafs, but the tree had one well hidden and the rain could not reach it. I have watched carefully and I saw it… That’s when I have realized my mistake: the emotions cannot exist without an object to refer to…

You may say that this is a blessing… to be able to feel all the emotions. If I was a poet, it might have been, but I don’t think that a poet is feeling what I feel neither has he seen what I see: I feel enormous and I see monstrous. For instance, when the sun is setting and the night starts, I don’t see just that. I realize what it is, but I see shadows running around, devouring the light… I see lost souls tormented by the lack of light or of hope… I see images out of this world…

You probably think that I am delusional, but I’m not. I don’t actually see those images. My eyes are seeing the reality, but my mind produces all those images, based on the emotions that I feel. In a way, you could say that I see feelings. The bets way to describe them is to use the images…

I was meant for science, not for poetry. I do not know how to rhyme words or write stories… I can’t even find the right words to explain my condition; I feel overwhelmed though… I am not insane, but I don’t know for how long. There is nothing left from the order that was once governing my life… All there’s left is chaos…

Look at this ancient goddess… she is waiting for so long, watching us from above, knowing our deepest secrets, our deepest fears… We cannot hide anything from her unreal white…”

The man was looking at the moon trough the opened window. The room was covered in darkness and the silence settled in as soon as the man finished talking. A crow was sitting in an armchair, seeming to have heard the story. A wind blow seemed to wake the bird, which left the room, leaving the man alone with his deamons.

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A New Disease
by Julie Thomas-Zucker
dkmerlin61@juno.com
http://www.juliesworkshop.homestead.com

#6 of 8

Arriving at work early, Roger received a surprise e-mail from his boss. "Come to my office as soon as you can." Roger struggled with that message. Should I feel guilty? Did I do anything that would cause my boss displeasure? Am I dressed appropriately?

Forgetting his misgivings, he confidently walked out of his office and up the stairs to the executive offices of The Herbal Giant. He greeted the secretary. "Hi, Melanie."

"I believe I'll see you much more often. Go right in. The boss wants to see you right away." Rushing through the door, the boss greets him with a smile. Roger tenses. Why a smile? That usually means bad news. The boss thrusts out his arm. "Roger, how long have you worked for us?"

"Nearly fourteen years."

"How would you like to be CEO of this company? That's what I plan to make you. You've always been fair, and I trust your judgement. I've always liked your work, Roger."

Furrowing his brow, he responds, "Could I think about it and talk it over with my family? I appreciate the thought, but I'm unsure about the risks. I'll let you know by Friday, okay?"

Throwing his hands up in disgusted resignation, "Granted, but only until Friday. We can't be without a CEO for long."

Returning to his office, Roger rubs his head. A promotion. WOW! What do I think? Should I take this job? What will it mean to my health? My family relationship? Can I research herbal medications as well as oversee the other employees? What will Jamie think?

As these thoughts overwhelmed him, suddenly he lost feeling in his right arm. He also noticed a pounding over his eyes like a person gets from drinking ice water too quickly. He didn't feel hot, but he kept having pains throughout the day. By days end, he felt paralyzed and contemplated calling me, his doctor. He thought better of it though and rationalized, I'll feel better when I get home.

With great difficulty, Roger drove the five miles to his home. Arriving there, he beeped the horn until his wife, Jamie, came out. With her help, he made it into the house.

"What happened? What's wrong with you? Should I call 9-1-1?"

When he didn't respond, his wife called an ambulance.

At the hospital, I order many tests. Most come back negative. The ones that don't involve his motor skills, but I tell him, "I suggest you take a vacation. No work - none whatsoever. Complete rest. Then your motor skills may return. Your symptoms are just psychosomatic, and very confusing. Keep me informed of your progress. We may have to give you physical therapy to strengthen your muscles."

At home, dark thoughts cloud his mind. Now what should I do? We just put a down payment on a new house? How can I be sick? What will the boss think?

Roger can still do small things: dress himself, go to the bathroom, feed himself, but any weight-bearing and he becomes paralyzed in that part of the body and remains so for twenty-four hours. The more he tries to do the worse he becomes. Soon even the muscles in his chest become paralyzed, and he almost dies. His wife has called me again, and we have rushed him to emergency. Now I decide he must remain hospitalized until I can find the cause. This disease has become a real challenge.

As usual after twenty-four hours, Roger breathes deeply on his own and no longer needs extra oxygen. When the disease permits, Roger thinks of how he can research his symptoms. He only has two days now to decide whether he can take the promotion. When he can, he writes down all his symptoms. (Something no patient of mine has ever done in the past.) He asks the nurses to bring him some medical books especially those dealing with the head and brain.

One of them reluctantly obliges. Though the text she provides proves inadequate, only showing the most basic information. He wants the detailed information he can find on the internet and also at the library. That afternoon at his therapy session he asked, "Can we possibly go to the library? I want to look up something that may be helpful."

The therapist thought it a good idea. I would have discouraged and not allowed it. But the therapist took him there. Lifting the books, though, proved too much for him, he collapsed. The therapist encouraged him to get up after grabbing the books. As he tried to stand, his face began to twitch and the therapist feared he might go into convulsions. She asked another large man to help her.

Together the two help Roger into the car. Arriving at the hospital the therapist wrings her hands when she see me. I shake my head and advise her, "Let's have no more field trips until Roger's condition improves dramatically."

When his wife visits him that afternoon, he asked, "Jamie, bring me my Palm Pilot. I really want to know what disease this is. I can't believe I can't go to the library without causing a scene. Please do this for me. Thank you."

Now Jamie knew Roger shouldn't do any research, but she wanted her husband back. She also noticed that he seemed more worried than usual. When she questioned him, he hesitated. "Darling, the boss offered me a promotion to CEO of the company. What should I do? Should I take it? Should I just keep the job I have? I want to make you happy, but I don't want to kill myself trying. Can you help me?"

"Dear, you have provided more than enough for me. I don't think you need a higher paying job unless you think you do. I'm happy where we are."

"Continuing to have the same job may not be an option. I may have to find another."

"That's okay. Maybe we can find a nicer house later when we are settled. Now rest. I need to leave before someone tells me to leave." Kissing him on the lips, she opens the door and walks into me.

"Oh, excuse me. I didn't expect anyone to be there." Smiling, he waves her away.

The next day, Jamie brings his Palm. Roger begins researching the disease. He finds much that seem to indicate that he has the flu but paralysis does not accompany the flu. He continues searching only to come up defeated. Deep in thought, the closing of the door makes him jump. His reflexes still work. "What are you doing, Roger? Where did that come from?," I asked pointing to his Palm. "Didn't I tell you I wanted you to have complete rest?"

"What good is that doing? I just get weaker and weaker? I don't want to be weak. I need strength so I can go back to work and take care of my family. If you can't give me a reason, why can't I leave? My wife can take care of me as good or better than the nurses."

"Here we can watch you. WE can find when your symptoms occur and when they don't. We can try different tests to rule out certain diseases."

"Okay, I'll give you one more day to find a cure. Then I am leaving."

The next day came and went with no answers. Jamie took Roger home. Roger called the boss and told him, "I want to keep my old job. I appreciate the offer, but I don't believe my health will permit me to do my job competently. I enjoy the research position I now have."

"Then how long will you remain in the hospital?"

"Oh, I'm out. I don't want to waste the company's money on tests that show no results. I'm doing better and expect to be at work on Monday."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I'd much rather have you healthy than struggling to remain awake. If I were you, I'd stay at the hospital."

Giving a startled gasp, Roger hung up the phone then fell backward into his easy chair. Jamie asked, "What happened, you don't look well?"

"The boss told me to stay at the hospital."

"I agree with him, Roger. They need to study you so that you can get well."

"Don't you want me at home either?" Roger whined. "I thought you missed me. I guess everyone is too busy for me. I'll return to the hospital."

When he enters the hospital, I greet him. "I'm so glad you changed your mind. I hope we can help you more than you will ever know."

With a sheepish grin, Jamie entered his room. "The boss called, and it seems that your job no longer is available. He already gave your job to another. But after that the company where you really wanted to work called and offered you a research position studying little known diseases. Isn't that exciting?"

"Did you tell them I had a little known disease and couldn't work until the doctor discovered the cause?"

"I told them. They hope to visit you this afternoon. Isn't that exciting?"

"I guess so. I only hope I remain well. These symptoms never provide a warning for me."

The owner of Research-It does pay Roger a visit. He gets the funding he needs to experiment with different herbs and medicines. He works around the clock as the disease permits and finally after two years discovers a combination of herbs that alleviate his symptoms so he can return home.

Research-It proves an asset and Roger enjoys his work, though at times the hours seem too long. He receives any time off that he wants. With this job, Roger can give his family the security they need as well as work at something suited for him.

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A New Disease
by m.rener@att.net

#7 of 8

Jack Smart was wondering when and how it happened. It seems a new disease has been slowly making its way through his office. He noticed it first affecting the hourly data entry workers, but lately it has been creeping up to all levels of management. In fact he even has seen it affecting his fellow riders during the morning commute, and people he sees on the street.

The symptoms are easily noticeable, normal everyday happy people, full of energy and enthusiasm suddenly becoming listless and melancholic. Confident people with a zest for life, becoming pessimistic, edgy and noncaring. Where once they would walk fast and with purpose, now just slouch over and shuffles their feet. People who once cared about the quality of their work, were now just handing in stuff that was just barely passable, "If the minimum wasn't good enough it wouldn't be the minimum" was their new mantra. Things that were once new and exciting just seemed commonplace and boring. Nobody seemed motivated to carry on anymore. "TGIF" became the rallying cry, and everyone would perk up for a little while, until they realized it just means another weekend of the same. Yes this new disease, called "Apathy", can be very debilitating to those unlucky enough to be affected.

Jack decided to investigate the causes of this disease. He called in experts and tried to dig up any information he could. All the experts agreed they were confounded by this disease, and were at a loss for a possible cure. "It's not only local", he was told, and “It's prevalent throughout the nation".

There were many potential cures proffered, but none seemed to work, in fact many only made the problem worse. Alcohol and drugs were tried, but the effects were only temporary, and the only way to get rid of the disease in this manner would be to take them continuously. Of course if that were done, the person would die.

Next they tried accumulating material goods; computers, clothes, stereos, televisions, cars, SUVs, etc. Again at first the ennui would go away, but there is only so much a person can buy before the accumulation of goods becomes a chore or worse they would go broke. How many people can really drive their SUVs across country or up and down mountain trails, especially if they live in cities and towns where these don't exist? How much clothing can one person wear? Televisions and stereos can only be so big and loud before there's no room in the house. Besides someone else will always have one bigger and louder than yours. Computers? How fast is fast enough, besides as soon as you buy one, it becomes obsolete and the price drops to half what you paid for yours.

Movies, television, theatre, concerts and sporting events would offer some relief, but again these last only a couple hours at best. It seems that people aren't satisfied with good stories any more, you have to shock. First it was a little nudity or swearing. But now special effects, total nudity, coarse gutter language, blood, gore and non-stop action are the norm. But how far can you go? Besides when everyone is doing the same thing everything becomes commonplace again. It's good to "push the envelope" every now and then, but once you get to the edge, there's nowhere else to go. Television makes one feel that everyone but you are having the times of their lives and leading exciting and fulfilling lives. But how many people do you know are like those in the shows or commercials?

In sports, it's now not acceptable to be gracious winners or losers, you have to crush the opponents and try to draw blood. Good sportsmanship is rare, and degrading one's opponent is the thing to do now. But again, after the initial excitement of a good verbal exchange, they become to be the norm and people stops paying attention anymore.

"Was the government concerned?” asked Jack. "Well", was the reply " They say they are, but really we think they feed off this disease". In fact the government relies on the disease to keep people distracted and passive, as they go around doing their business. They know they can get away with anything as long as everyone is busy trying to "Get a Life". The politicians cry out about the lack of people involved in the political process, but the less people care, the more they can do what they will with the country. Oh they tell us they are concerned, but really they relish every minute. They even try to pretend there are differences between the factions, but in reality they just use different words but say the things.

"So, the government's to blame", said Jack. "No not totally, they are just taking advantage of the situation". "Probably the biggest problem is the work we do these days" was the reply. It used to be that people felt they worked for a purpose, and loyalty and productivity was rewarded. Now, thanks to technology we are doing more, but what is being produced is less tangible. Since we moved away from a manufacturing society to one based on information, we never really know if what we are doing makes a difference or not. Throw in all these games being played by management, making up strange new words that don't really mean anything but makes one sound "important", along with the "political correctness" maxim of "Everyone's a winner, nobody's a loser", and voila, why try harder it won't matter to your career.

All of this information really depressed Jack, and he started feeling like it was all worthless. "OH NO", he shouted, "I will not succumb to this new disease". At that point he realized he found a cure. The enlightenment made him feel great. He turned to the so-called experts and exclaimed, "The cure for this new disease is to get involved in one's community, and just be satisfied with what you have." "If you just give your best at all times and stop comparing yourself to others, you will find that life is good and you will be happy".

The reply was a bit disheartening, "Yeah, we tried that but felt what's the use, no one would care".....

With that Jack just groaned, shook his head and smiled as he walked away. "That's what you get for talking with the so-called experts,” he thought. At that point a glowing smile crossed his face and he whistled as he strutted down the hall knowing he would never come down with this "New Disease".

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A New Disease by ligtop@yahoo.com	#8 of 8
Ineligible entry (2812 words and received after the deadline)
From a distance, the shapes and decor took on the likeness of a battered and abandoned castle. But as the distance subsided, evidence of something else was on the rise. It was the eve of dusk and the torrid remains of daylight were festering to the madness of midnight. The beaming colors of orange and violet encompassed the erratic sculpted clouds. Up in the northern sky the brazen moon encroached and the fading glimmer of sunset began to surrender. The sky rolled with jubilation as the sun blazed the terrain with the remaining minutes of warmth and light. Darkness summoned, and as the evening bustled, the smothering murmuration of starlings maneuvered gracefully toward open grounds. Above in the trees, grackles looked down upon the starlings. Their patience was surreal as they settled in the trees. The sounds of the birds roosting quibbled to a faint and fading chirp. Competition for the remaining scraps dwindled as calmness so gallantly gleamed. What appeared to be a castle from afar, finally unveiled a rigid yet ram shackled restaurant Sounds of tires screeched, as an old blue Chevy turned wildly into its slot. Marvin Hacktuss had landed. Marvin was on his way home when he made his routine stop for dinner at Delanto’s Diner. Delanto’s was a well-respected Diner about fifty yards from the main road. Not much else was around except the barren landscape and gatherings of swooping birds. Marvin was a regular customer and it was obvious that they appreciated his visits. As he got out of his favorite car, he paused to look upon the grace and beauty of the captivating sky. As he turned to lock the doors, he saw reflections of the sky distorted on the slope of his windshield. He broke away and mulled as he made his way to the diner. Marvin was in troubled times. Having dinner and heaving his personal hang-ups gave him homage. Delanto’s allowed him to put things in perspective and relax to an environment of friends and good old fashion cooking. Marvin considered himself a naturalist. He didn’t understand death any more than he understood infinity. The world seemed complicated, but he had a way of simplifying it by focusing on his pursuit of the American dream, a good job, a nice house and good company. Nothing he liked better than the simple things in nature, the earth, the sky, the land and the tall thin trees. And like the tall thin trees, Marvin too, kept a thin physique. He had curly black hair, a bright red face and poppycock eyes. Being tall and awkward made it difficult for Marvin to accommodate the opposite sex, which heightened his troubles altogether. Nonetheless, he managed to get by and soon became one of Delanto’s best paying customers. Furthermore, what made his life even more challenging and frustrating was difficulty he was enduring at his work. He just did not consider himself stable. To understand Marvin’s troubles you have to probe into his career dilemmas. His washout as an actor in the porn industry forced Marvin to consider a life as a polymer specialist. To him this was the next best thing. The company made many products, but Marvin worked in two specialized divisions. One of his assignments was overseeing the development of adult female gadgets. Over the years he had made some profound enhancements with the BPP mold injectors. These mold injectors produced beads, plugs and probes. Currently he was focusing most of his time launching the Colossal G7. A refinement to Mammoth Rapture 6. This was an oversized dildo marketed for full figured women. Not only did he have hands on in the development of this device but he gave it the final once over before shipment. The other division Marvin headed was in the area of prosthetic limbs for the handicap. When Marvin supervised this division, is when the trouble began. The prosthetic limbs they manufactured included all standard limbs and some knee and lower hip replacement parts. He worked closely with engineers and plant coordinators setting up the molding assembly units. His project group’s main task was to utilize the plants floor space Marvin’s assignment was to reorganize the Colossal G7 lines with the prosthetic molding machines, so that more expansion could be rendered. No one else had the influence that Marvin had regarding the lay out of the mold injecting machines. Unfortunately essential design strategies were overlooked and common sense lay out decisions fell short. The mistake that put his reputation in jeopardy was when he put a prosthetic arm mold machine adjacent to the Colossal G7 molding line. What transpired was maintenance service technicians began using the prosthetic arm units to dislodge jammed Colossal G7's in the molding chambers. Not only did this damage the prosthetics, but many employees were questioned regarding the techniques they used while performing the dislodge. This inherently created an environment for potential abuse and freaky nonsense. Marvin’s supervisors felt this was poor planning and illogical placement of company equipment. One particular incidence included a plant tour where some visitors observed a lower arm prosthetic prototype extending from a Molding machine with a Colossal G7 lodged between the fingers. Apparently it was left in this condition while workers were astray. Needless to say, it was quite embarrassing for management. Marvin had worked so hard and accumulated so much experience at the plant it was hard to fathom making such poor decisions. And due to the pressure he was now under; he began to experience some mental distress. But for now, he was just going to enjoy his meal at Delanto’s. Perhaps while there, he could come to some conclusions on what decisions would best resurrect or guide his future. Marvin made his way toward Delanto’s Diner and entered the waiting area. As he looked around he notice all the people, he wondered where they all came from. As Marvin was seated in his favorite booth he looked over the menu and channeled the approaching waitress. Della smiled at Marvin through her jutted jaw and uttered the usual rundown of the daily special. She was somewhat homely and struggled with trays due to her misaligned prosthetic leg. Marvin felt sorry for Della and often tipped her well. He felt guilty because his plant manufactured the plastics for her prosthetic leg. He always assured her that the problem was in the fitting and not the material. She just smiled and insisted on the special and perhaps some cheesecake. He ordered the special along with a tall glass of cold refreshing tea. As he was waiting for his order, he gently put his head down and relaxed upon the coolness of the table. He was exhausted. The 12-hour days and stress at the polymer plant were taking its toll. He lay there with his eyes buckled upon the wrath of the ceiling before swooning into a slumber. Darkness hovered and a skewed blurred vision twirled. Fade to black ensued and a new vision arose. A big burly truck banged into the parking lot. Out stepped a brawny man with a sandy toned mustache. Hair parted in the middle and a big pearly white smile, he made his way inside the diner. After looking around a bit, he approached Marvin’s booth. With a cheery greeting, he lowered himself and began to squat and shift into the booth. “Howdy, partner, you mind if I sit here?” Marvin agreed. “As I was making my way up the road my truck began to falter, you think you could give me a ride to the top of the valley?” Marvin agreed. Meanwhile, he kept staring at this huge, seemingly impenetrable mess that Marvin had made on the table. Marvin could not figure out why the brawny man seemed so mesmerized by the somewhat tiny spill on the table. The Brawny man requested that they head out before the sun gave way. So they stood up and walked toward the door. As they walked passed the counter, the brawny man shifted his eyes and focused steadily on the soiled and sticky counter. He appeared agitated. They left Delanto’s and got into Marvin’s car. They unlocked Marvin’s door and restrained themselves. The brawny man pointed up the road to the top of a hill. He told Marvin he needed to get back on the hill and promptly finish his day’s work. Marvin did not contest. So they proceeded toward the destination. They drove up the interstate and around the winding road till they reached the gap in the hillside. Brawny man then pointed his finger ahead toward an off road, which appeared to aim in the direction just below a large mountain. You could see where the brawny man had been chopping wood. He had racks of wood and a large chain saw propped against a large oak tree. He tied a ribbon on the tree to mark his work in progress. Marvin stood back a bit and watched as the large brawny man proceeded to continue his work. He furiously raged havoc upon the helpless tress base and ripped the oak to a brisk downfall. One after another he piled up the trees and secured them. All with a smile and a deep barreled chuckle. Suddenly a thunderous explosion rang the area. Marvin looked up and saw that the mountain had blown its top. The sky lustered with the red and orange, exposing tiny specks of floating ash. The heat and humidity were preposterous. From what Marvin was seeing there was no way out. He looked at the brawny man and was horrified to see him still smiling and working. The lava kept coming at an alarming rate. It was engulfing the area, burning trees and all matter in its path. Not only was it hot, but also caused the sky to darken from the splurging projections of molten lava. It was now within feet of where they were standing. Although Marvin felt emaciated, he still endured and kept his ground. He felt the pain and was in disbelief of his circumstances but somehow he was still alive. Brawny man just turned and watch with hilarity. Now the lava had entirely surrounded them both. Brawny man had Lava up to his ankles and Marvin felt it swirling around his shoes. Where Marvin was standing, it was clear that brawny would be submerged first. Brawny kept the smile and just waived at Marvin. As the pace of the molten liquid picked up, brawny man was quickly being enveloped. Why was he not in pain, thought Marvin? What would then happen to him? It all seemed so insane. Increasingly it rose on their bodies. Brawny man now was up to his chest and Marvin had it up to his knees. All Marvin thought about was how he could have made better decisions at the polymer plant. His life dashed before him and he mentally digested both good and evil thoughts. He looked around and realized there was no use in running. Events unfolded much too quickly for his deemed ability to have made a difference. Time was racing and lava was pushing fast and strong. Marvin was still poised and tranquil. And now the hot oozing lava was........... “Marvin, Della called out.” Your meal is here, wake up Marvin. Della continued to shake Marvin around his shoulders and head. She buffed his thinning crown spot in a circular motion and laughed while she limbed away. She knew Marvin was in position to finish waking up. He shook his head and blinked his eyes to the bright and disturbing light from above. Sweat and agitation covered his body. He was shaking and grabbled to get his wits. He put his hands together and stroked his face with the back of his thumb. He continued and started to rub his head while yelping out and gasping for air. When he finally came to his senses he pelted out an emotional bewilderment and nodded his head with disgust. What relief, he thought. Just another agonizing dream in response to all the daily stress at the plant. Marvin was really disturbed because he had this dream over and over, every night. Each and every night the dream was pretty much the same. No matter who he was with it always climaxed to an intense scene with the ultimate demise of horror and doom. Even though he was having these recurring dreams he woke up with intense cramping and mental annoyance. Finally Marvin decided enough was enough. Right there he made a commitment to see a therapist to try and resolve his issues. He could not bear the emotional disturbances anymore. Dreaming was one thing, but to go through it every night made him think it was biological in nature. Perhaps some medication would relieve him or maybe some good old fashion couch talk would rectify things. So Marvin’s mission was to get all the advice he could get and talk to all his friends to see if anyone knew of a qualified psychiatrist. From his lap, Marvin reached and moved his napkin into his shirt. The special he ordered and his tall glass of tea surely would hit the spot after his dreaming ordeal. Dreaming made him very hungry and often gave him an intense headache. Eating often subsided these symptoms. While he was biting into his sandwich Della approached to provide service. Marvin was fine and nodded to confirm. But as she hobbled away, Marvin called Della back. He thought perhaps she might know of a qualified shrink. “Della, let me ask you a question, if it is not too personal, do you know of any really qualified therapist?” “Well, Marvin- In fact I do.” “To be honest with you Marvin, I am seeing one myself.” Della had been going to a therapist to help her with her fragmented walk. She felt discarded and singled out. She grabbed her pin and jotted down his name. Marvin picked it up and read it, Dr. Jarcus Shelby. Marvin thanked her and smiled. Marvin finished up his meal and headed out to his car to presume his journey home. After waiting for months to see Dr. Jarcus Shelby, today was his appointment. Marvin went to his office and sat in the waiting room. He felt anxious yet secured in hopes of learning more of his condition. As he was thumbing through one of the magazines, the secretary called out his name. Marvin stood up and eloquently strolled through as the assistant held the door open. “Come on in Marvin, Dr. Shelby proclaimed.” Marvin hung out his hand and pleasured the greeting. The doctor asked him many questions and put him through several tests to try and aid Marvin in his quest for peace and sanity. Afterwards, he sent Marvin home and told him to be patient for the results. It was now Wednesday and Marvin had just returned from Delanto’s. At work he was working with the management focus group to rectify the machine layout. And he was still experiencing his monstrous like dreams. As he went into the kitchen, he saw his answering machine flashing. He activated it to hear the message. It was Dr. Shelby. He said to call the office. Marvin got his composure together and dialed the office. Dr. Shelby informed Marvin to come in; he had some important findings to go over. When Marvin arrived at Dr. Shelby’s office he sat down in a large leather chair and peered at the pictures on the wall. They were perfectly aligned. He prepared himself for the worst. Suddenly from behind, Marvin heard papers land on the table. Dr. Shelby grabbed the charts and gave it to him straight. Marvin, he said,” What I have found in my discoveries is something completely biological.” “I had to go to some of my colleagues for some help on this one. “ As it turned out the doctors confirmed that Marvin had a new disease. The charts revealed that Marvin had what they called Inferno Bowl Syndrome. It was an irregular growth in the upper segment of the transverse colon. It was acting like a beacon. For some reason his body did not completely recognize it and destroy it. This in turn triggered the explosive lava dreams. This was good news to Marvin because a simple outpatient surgery would stifle his torment. The next day Marvin went in for the procedure. It was quick, simple and right on target. Dr. Newcome was his surgeon and reported that all went well. Marvin was flabbergasted. He got in his blue Chevy and drove down to Delanto’s for the special and to thank Della for her deeds. And to show her his thanks Marvin reached over and with clean jerk and pull, put a fix on Della’s shoddy leg. All was good and all was well at Delanto’s.

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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club