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Rated: E · Other · Contest Entry · #1808281
Be careful who you reach out to.
All right, Doc. You got me in a plastic tent I can barely see through. Still, I notice things. Like when you slide your arms through the round holes to stick needles in me, I notice there’s sometimes a small sliver of your skin showing between your plastic gloves and the sleeve of that green thing you wear.

When you try to explain what’s happened to me, I notice the phony pity dripping from your voice, even through that mask covering your mouth and nose,. Rare virus, you say. One in a million. What do I care about the odds? A monkey up a tree on some remote island gets it from some insect and what? Spits the bug onto some coconut?  And the bug finds me? You say it’s because I like to travel alone to islands sitting off by themselves. So what?  I should go only where everybody else goes? So this is all my fault?

You don’t get it: I don’t care what the story is. And save the pity. Mostly you’re thinking you’re glad it’s me in here and you out there, and I know it.

You say the bug can kill someone if I touch them. So you tie me down in here, and all I can move are my hands in these gloves? What, you think I’m dangerous?

Medicine time. Come on, let’s see those arms in here, poking through the holes. With your big brain, you don’t know everything. You don’t know I was able to catch the finger of one of my gloves on the edge of a metal post holding up the tent, tear a little hole in the glove. You don’t know I see the sliver of skin between your glove and your sleeve. Come on, just a little closer.



(Word count: 300)
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