"We are in the heart of the storm." Nathan had found himself muttering that under his breath for the past seven months. It had struck like a thief in the night. Everything was normal as could be. He was starting a new job as a surgeon at a hospital, promising Marni that he wouldn't become too overworked. Suddenly, it had all fallen apart. People's corpses were now the sidewalk's main litter, and organs were flying off of the shelves into new bodies, most of which were too exhausted to keep on existing, even with them. Ah, the glorious year of 2030.
Though Wallace was still young, he was beginning to display age. Wrinkles from stress framed his face, his skin was pale, and his sideburns were beginning to fade to gray. There seemed to be no end in sight to this madness. Day in and day out, he slaved over the operating table, while every night he felt a hole tear deeper into his heart from the guilt of losing a fellow human being. He practically lived on coffee. How ironic that the doctor himself was ill!
The agony did not end there. The second half was self-induced, masochistically some would say. He simply wouldn't let the fact go that he hadn't contacted Marni in a long time. An outsider would say that it wasn't his fault, for his work had been interfering with things too often. After all, he'd barely had any time to himself as was. Yet, he tortured himself anyway. Every time he thought of her... every time he yearned to feel her soft hair brush against his face again... every time he wished to feel her lips on his... Of course, he did know she was alive. He'd always check the list of the new bodies, and give a sigh of relief. Though he didn't talk to her, it didn't mean that it was the same the other way around. Every three days, a caring message pitifully waited back at his apartment for him when he stumbled through the door with barely enough energy to crawl into bed, and start the cycle again. Sometimes at work, a note would be handed over to him by the nervous receptionist, its message of cheer having the opposite effect on him.
He'd gotten bloodied knuckles on multiple occasions from smacking them into something, as if the pounding would help him find why he hadn't told her to stop trying. Of course, Nathan knew why: he didn't want to see her hurt by Rotti again. Still, there was hope for him within this dark agony, a sort of reward for his dirty habit. The rose that had come with a message from her that one time, its bud a beautiful scarlet plume, was a treasure to behold. It seemed to give a little bit of purpose to it all, though a twisted purpose it was. Wallace often wished that it had still retained its thorns.
XXXXXX
With a sigh of anguish, Nathan cracked the poisonous substance between his fingers, getting ready to fashion it into an object that could be passed as a pill. This was one of the many times where he'd asked himself, "What the hell am I doing?" This wasn't right at all. He couldn't do this to his own daughter! Yet, he did. He submitted to that bleeding want within him. Shilo...She looked so much like Marni, the woman that had come to symbolize ultimate failure and self-loathing within him. It would be better if he set her free. But he always found himself caging her here. Nathan's conscience screamed at him to get a grip, but was gagged every time by his extreme want. He had the cure, but just couldn't bring himself to take it.