The Serum

December 15, 2011
By Rush4 BRONZE, Elmwood Park, Illinois
Rush4 BRONZE, Elmwood Park, Illinois
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

The cold air streamed through my hair as I fell limply from the heavens. I looked all over my body for a parachute, but to no avail. I was plummeting downward at an increasing speed, and had no way to slow myself from the impact. The ground, a busy suburban street, was fast approaching, and I made the sign of the cross as my body smashed into the cold concrete sidewalk. This is how the worst day of my life began.

I woke up strapped down to a cold steel table, and realized a terrible aching in my arm. I looked down at it, and saw an empty IV socket. “There’s no way I could have survived that fall,” I thought. The room was like a hospital room, except it lacked any windows. There were blinding fluorescent lights on the ceiling, a stand for an IV drip bag, and a single brown, scratched door. Then the screams began. Loud, bloodcurdling shrieks, caused by unimaginable terrors I did not want to think about. I kept trying to ignore the cries, but they grew louder, and louder. All of a sudden, they stopped all together. Then, the door flung open on its hinges and in walked two creatures that I dare call human, who then stepped to the sides of the doorway. These monsters had a humanoid figure, but were covered in shining silver armor, making them look like medieval knights. Each one had a U.S. military issue rifle in hand, and leveled them toward me. Between them entered a single, stout man with glasses, wearing a long white coat. He rolled a table in, on which were several syringes full of a thick, creamy serum. I thrashed around my bed, as best I could, as the man grabbed a needle and walked over to me. He inserted it into the socket and pumped the serum into my veins.
“Don’t worry,” he said as I drifted into darkness, “you’ll be lucky if this kills you.”

I opened my eyes to find myself yet again strapped to that damn table, in agonizing pain. The same man from before was standing at the doorway.
“Help,” I screamed, but it only came out as a strained gargle. My throat felt like it was on fire, and the bare skin around my restraints was bloody and raw. The man turned around and slowly paced to my bedside. He started to mumble,

“Nasty what that stuff does to ya’.” He said, “I’m sorry I have to do this, but you’re no longer useful to us,” and as he picked up another syringe and injected me with it, I closed my eyes for the very last time.

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