Spooktoberfest: Infection

For those who would like to read my post for Celebrate the Small Things can find it HERE.

The awesomeness that is Spooktoberfest is made possible by Jackie @ Bouquet of Books and Dani @ Entertaining Interests.

For those who are interested in joining up, here are the details!

Requirements:

1. Follow Cover Girls blog if you don’t already. It will be reciprocated!

          And on Twitter: @covergirlsdj

You can also follow our individual accounts: @jackiefel & @danibertrand

If you have a Twitter account, please feel free to use the hashtag #spooktoberfest14

2. Your Flash Fiction piece cannot be any longer than 300 words. Sorry… that’s part of the challenge.

3. You must use the MANDATORY 5 words listed below…

      (You may use any variation of these words as you like.)

              chill

            cocoon

            commotion

            curse

            virus

4. Post your Flash Fiction piece any day from Friday Oct 24^th thru Tuesday, Oct. 28^th.

5. It’s a blog hop, so… hop around to other participating blogs and leave them some awesome comments.

6. Have fun.

Your flash fiction piece can be scary, comical, romantic, or whatever you choose, just be creative! You can use pictures to set the scene and/or a song to set the mood.

The winners will be posted on HALLOWEEN, Oct. 31st!

Jackie and Dani will each choose a winner. That’s right – two winners!PRIZES: Each winner will receive a $25 e-giftcard of their choice.

My entry is exactly 300 words.  What can I say?  I have a hard time restraining myself sometimes.  It took longer to cut my story down to 300 words than it did to write the first draft, but since that's part of the challenge

Infection

It’s dark because I can’t open my eyes.  I try again, but they’re stuck shut by some kind of slimy goop.

“The test subject Amy Rohan is 10 years old.  She will henceforth be designated as Patient 8347.”  The voice is deep.  It’s a man, and he sounds even more unfriendly than my neighbor Mr. Horace.

There’s a commotion to my left (commotion was our vocabulary word in school last week).  It's the rustle of fabric.

“The injection’s ready.”  This voice is softer, a woman’s, and her words send a chill through me.  They’re going to give me a shot.  I hate shots.

A pain in my left arm makes me jump, but I can’t move far.  Straps are holding me still.  My eyes are watering, but the tears can’t get out.

“The experimental serum was administered at 1430 hours,” the man says.  “8347 started exhibiting symptoms of the Hillson virus 48 hours ago.  We hope to ascertain whether the serum, in combination with immersion therapy, can be effective at this stage of infection.”

My heart squeezes painfully.  Mom's called Hillson virus a curse since it took Daddy away.  If I’m sick now . . . is Mom sick too?

A piercing squeal startles me, and I’m moving.  My stomach flutters, and I know I’m going downward.  Something cold and wet hits my skin.  It’s too thick to be water, and it smells like floor cleaner.  My eyes are still closed, but it’s getting darker somehow.  My heart speeds up as the wet stuff flows over my face.

Holding my breath, I wish I was cocooned in my blankets at home.  Mommy would read me a story.  I’d be safe there. 

Soon my lungs are burning.  I need to breathe, but if I do . . .

I gasp and the icy sludge fills my chest.