My body hurts.
Well, that's not anything new to me, but my joints feel more vulnerable.
I shifted on the bed in the clinic, then massaged my wrists that were holding the game console—the console that was beside me on the bed.
It was a bit old-fashioned, but it was something that had been with me for a considerable amount of time.
I loosened my uniform and shifted my legs about to regain some feeling.
Luckily, I was wearing pants and not the skirt that was required of the female students.
My eyes turned to the surroundings in the clinic.
The wall was standard white and pristine.
The air was drenched in the smell that is uniquely attributed to drugs.
It disgusted me.
I had been living in all kinds of places that had this smell.
To people, it smelled like a cure, but to me it was a prison. A prison of white walls, doctors and nurses running around.
The annoyance on their faces as they had to deal with me.
If their thoughts could be spoken in words then it would be just one:
Again.
With a heavy indication of annoyance.
And I would respond with a sarcastic smile.
It could be understood as:
Does it look like I'm struggling to get through this?
Does it look like I wanted to wake up and face the seizures again?
Honestly, to a bystander it just looks scary. But to the person who actually goes through the seizures—it feels terrifying.
First of all, your body starts to hurt in the joints.
And somehow, that's more pain than regular places would cause the body.
Then your brain feels like someone is tossing it around.
Your whole body becomes stimulated and the whole world is making you vibrate.
No, it's the foaming at the mouth that people see.
I have more seizures than normal people—or more accurately, people who have seizures.
The doctors say I have a rare disease that developed due to the natural disasters.
The chemicals in the air affected my body function and made it all jumbled up inside.
The symptoms are random, but it always starts with pain.
Followed by seizures.
Then I cough out some blood.
Luckily, my parents owned a huge hospital before the disaster and were something like medical royalty.
So I didn't die in the natural disasters.
But alas, they gave birth to a beautiful baby boy and I wasn't needed.
Honestly, I could see their patience to deal with me dwindling by the day.
It wasn't a problem of expenses that annoyed them—it was the length of time that was irritating.
After all, they had a stockpile of drugs with them during the disaster.
Drugs that were used to get a firm foothold in those dark times.
And also made them reach the top in life after humanity settled down.
They are now in charge of the medical part of the new society.
As such, a boy to take over was more important than someone who was going to die soon.
The doctor and nurses in charge of me were counting down the months till my death.
My parents and my stuck-up brother who was three years younger than me were counting down the days.
I was counting down the seconds till my death.
But pining for death daily does get quite boring.
And there's nothing more depressing than these three places: a funeral, a hospital, and lastly, high school.
I've been to a hospital, and I'm going to a funeral as the main participant soon enough, so the only place left was high school.
Though this doesn't really count as attending high school.
Considering this morning started with a dizzy fit.
The wretched weather that made the sun shine today caused this.
And I, being the frail, about-to-die human being, ended up passing out from heatstroke.
Plus this stupid school just had to make their buildings far from the entrance.
I was dropped off at the gate by the driver, who zoomed away as soon as I got off.
I also politely extended a middle finger to the departing vehicle.
Anyway, some students brought me to the clinic.
It seemed like there was an outbreak of fainting sickness all around because there were a lot of people.
I was reminded of someone who came to the clinic but left once they saw the huge crowd. I think it was a plump male student.
Anyway, I woke up in the clinic and just gave up going to class.
Luckily, I didn't have any seizures in school yet and scare my future classmates.
Though it would happen eventually.
And then I would be known as the ghost of the clinic.
Because my appearance is what you would imagine a frail, dying old woman would look like.
Sunken cheeks, dark circles, and thin bones.
But due to my young age, it was a little bit better.
Not too ghastly, but sickly.
Anyway, it was very clear that I was dying.
Honestly, why did I even come to school?
What's the point?
Ah right, I was simply bored.
My parents, who had completely abandoned me to the hospital, had made me a special ward so that I wouldn't interact with anyone except the doctors and nurses.
Then they told everyone that I had died.
I know because I saw the news of my death.
I wasn't worried about the repercussions of that news.
It probably meant that my family was tired of dealing with me, so they decisively cut me off.
I had no more use.
I mean, when I was little, I might have been used as a bargaining chip.
Or would have been sold to a rich, powerful fat man. Or sold off for marriage.
But as days passed, I could barely move. My skin was dry and sickly.
I had dark shades under my eyes.
My hair was like straw—thin and coarse. And my figure was sunken.
My chest size and butt size could be described as malnourished and even more malnourished.
So my sexual appeal—or "marriage appeal," as they call it—was equal to and less than zero.
So to the news that I was abandoned, I only thought one thing:
I was like, hey, I haven't died yet.
But hopefully the death flag you set up for me just might do the trick.
It read, and I quote:
"...It was a sad thing to die to an unknown disease.
And so this new disease, which has been studied and the cure has been found and tested.
In honor of my daughter's brave pursuit to saving lives, the disease is now called Harrison's Disease."
Then cue the tearworks.
The public was touched by their devotion to medicine and saving lives.
I was touched that they made sure to set up such a wonderful death flag for me.
I promise to try my best to meet up with your expectations.
Though there was something that I found amusing.
First of all, there's no actual cure to this disease and I'm the only one who has it.
Second of all, this news meant that I was no longer a Harris, so why would you name it Harrison's Disease?
It's the family name that's Harris.
My name is—the one who is about to die.
Or the dying one.
Or the terminally ill patient.
Or the one who is pitiful.
Or are you still alive?
All these have been names that I have been given.
And each time, I bless their heart for setting up my death flag.
Jeez, these guys work harder than I do.
Meanwhile, my effort consists of not taking my medicine and eating random junk that the moment provides.
Then I have episodes again.
And then I try to bite my tongue.
Tsk, but it never works. I pass out before my teeth could apply enough force.
Then I wake up with a new strategy.
My most recent one is playing games. And I mean very stimulating games that get your heart pumping.
See, I had this old console from trash I picked up in the wreckage.
Everything else was broken and I was bored, lying there, waiting to see if my parents would care enough to rescue me.
There were witnesses that day, so they had to.
But they were really reluctant.
I was just chill.
Anyway, I picked it up because it was beside me and started to play the game.
I couldn't move anyway.
Then I just kept it with me and played it during the silence.
The silence of living in the hospital with no one visiting you or caring about you.
Only the screams from emergency patients. Or the sobs of those whose family had died.
Utterly depressing.
Anyway, I asked my parents to improve the console using that new mineral that was discovered.
Well, it wasn't asking but more like I told them I would post a video of myself cutting my wrist and blaming it on them on the Internet.
They thought I was joking.
I thought that statement was hilarious, so I laughed.
Then I stabbed my thigh with a knife.
They frowned and called the doctor that was always on standby.
Long story short, I was patched up and my console was sent to the tech company owned by the Ming family and acquired that new ore.
Those guys were quite good at tech stuff, so my console was super high-tech with a limitless battery supply.
I happily went to school with my new console that doubled as a phone.
Now here I am.
I woke up a few minutes ago and just continued playing games.
Then I stopped playing due to my ailing body and enjoyed the sight of the grass on the school field being illuminated by the sun while resting.
I wish I could be an athlete and do sports.
Not the normal ones, but the extreme ones.
If there was something I regret in life, it's that I could never willingly engage in dangerous activities that court death while calling it a sport.
Sigh, such is life sometimes.
I have no money to my name and I was kicked out of my family.
Only the game console to comfort me.
Now I'm looking at all the students who had collapsed.
I couldn't move much because it was exhausting, so I turned my head around.
These guys seemed to have a bad skin day or something, because most of them had black spots.
Well, there were one or two who had no black spots, but their veins were popping out and their eyes were squeezed shut.
They looked in pain, while those with black spots looked peaceful.
The nurse in charge was busy directing them to beds and wondering what happened to them.
Suddenly, one of those with black spots rose up.
It attracted a lot of attention from the nurse.
After all, everyone else was unconscious and I was laying down.
So someone sitting up was conspicuous.
The nurse hurried to the male student to ask what was wrong. She was checking his wrist when I saw it.
I was close to their position and saw the male student with red eyes open his mouth wide.
He bit into the nurse's shoulder, and she screamed.
She moved back, pressing her hand on the wound.
Suddenly, the other students with black spots woke up.
There was mayhem as those who were bringing in students ran back out.
The turned student started attacking random people.
And those random people included me.
Obviously, I was shocked and tried to get out of the bed.
But I didn't even make it halfway off the bed before my hands slipped and I fell off.
The zombie was on me, biting at my shoulder.
I gasped at the pain and coughed out blood.
My eyes rolled back, and I knew this was it.
This was the death flag that I was preparing for.
But why zombies?
I might be used to pain, but it doesn't make it any less painful, I thought dryly as I gave in.
He he.
Ha ha.
Let's spread death upon this desolate world and purge it.