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I’ve learned the virus affects each person differently. I’m not sure why, but I know it does. Some, like the woman roaming the street or Ms. Klein, my patient at the hospital that night, lose all their memories, 20a total brain wipe. About twelve hours after infection, they become a shell of a person, a body with no sense of purpose or belonging. I call them Nomes—stands for no memories.
“Never let someone bigger than you pin you to the ground. The longer you’re pinned, the more strength you give up. Act quickly and violently. Strike their most vulnerable places. Eyes. Nose. Throat. Groin. Give ’em hell, girl.”
I inhale his familiar scent, a mix of sawdust from his woodwork and earth from spending too much time outdoors. It smells like home.
“I don’t care if you’re fifty. You’ll always be my daughter, so I’ll always take care of you.”
my dad always says this to me :)
“A piece of my heart aches. It always does. Sometimes the pain is sharp and debilitating. Other times, it’s a dull twinge I’ve learned to live with.”
“You’re right, Nate. I am a cunt.” I’ve never understood why that word was ever considered an insult. To me, it’s a compliment. It’s one of the strongest organs there is. It creates life, it makes men stupid, and it bleeds every month—yet it doesn’t die.
