My story about ( Choosing Life )

Crunching beneath my boots, the rocks turn to dust along the cliff ledge as I stretch above for a grip to the next level. Strands of black hair sting my face as a small hand latches onto my shirt. My brother’s grip is weakening by the second – no one is immune. My lids try to hide my emerald eyes, yet I cannot stop till I find the place. I must – for Logan. His life is all that matters and he is the most precious left. I have done too much, come too far, for it all to go to waste now.
From New York City to San Antonia, that is how far I have travelled for a medication that can – hopefully — cure a severe infection that has caused a pandemic; mass destruction. I’ve seen the devastation; dead bodies cover the streets like stepping stones. The odour of decomposing flesh drowns the earth like a poisonous fog. The disease mutates every time it reaches a new victim, and no one survives.
Lurching up with the last bit of strength, I collapse on to the rock, letting the coolness seep into my skin. Logan’s wheezes fill the silence as he clambers up to the cliff ledge too. He won’t last much longer, nor will I. No one is immune thanks to the turtle-paced government who didn’t make any vaccines. If only the scientists had used their brains and made the vaccines fast enough, then they could have prevented this from happening, saved at least some people somewhere in the world, instead of us all ending up dead.
In time with the gurgles and strangling sounds echoing from Logan, I venture into the cave mouth. Boom, boom, boom. Rows of lights flicker on revealing a glorious sight. One which causes my knees to tremble, hands to shake and skin to quiver. My skin leaks at the thought of touching anything; the illusion may disappear. My sides ache, from illness or joy I do not know. White floods me as walls, floors, shelves and tables surround me. I feel my eyes dart about, seeking for what I need. A pile of wood, no, a desk sits in the corner of the lab. Hollow sounds echo as I stumble towards the out-of-place furniture. Unlike the modified cave full of technology, the worn desk is messy, personal and loved. I gasp as a hand trails its fingers along the dints of the old wood. It’s my hand, yet it does not feel like it. It must be the illness taking its toll. Documents scatter the desk, but I do not care. I only need what is hopefully here; the treatment. A vaccine won’t do now, but it would have been enough if the scientists had made them earlier enough. My heart aches every time I think back to my friends who have all died, some even before my eyes.
As I scour the cave-turned-lab, I feel my thoughts start to drift. The illness is forever adapting; evolving. There are no set characteristic for this disease. Flashes of blood pouring from live people’s eyes drown my mind as do echoes of agonising shrieks. Logan is suffering greatly, yet not as bad as some. My eyes burn as a dam crashes against them. I cannot lose my brother. Logan must survive to tell the tale. Yet who would he tell? The bodies that cover the world?
Strangled sounds of surreal agony shake me from my trance. Through a haze I turn from the desk and limp towards Logan’s quivering form. If I died, it’d be ok, I made it to 16, but Logan is nine years old and deserves to live. His body convulses, causing my heart to hammer against my ribcage as I move towards him. Blurred eyes causes me to doubt what I thought I just saw. Could it- no! It can’t – but maybe … Glimmering glass tear drops hang from the wall, like water cascading over a waterfall edge. But one stands out. Amber liquid fills a tear drop. As my fingers grasp the cool glass, pinging sounds play gently as the waterfall shimmers. The top of the glass tear seems to be the needle, so fine it’d leave no mark on one’s skin.
I turn to my brother and walk as though through an unknown fog. Logan quivers in my arms as I gently pull him into me. Grasping the antidote, the one only and only for this illness, I gradually raise my hand above his shoulder. This will save his life. If only scientists had made vaccines or even more antidotes, then more than one person would have survived. The amber liquid swirls around as though full of life.
‘Orissa,’ breathes Logan. My eyes snap to his. ‘I love you, always.’ He’s still alive.
As though a code for something, I know that I can no longer go through with this. Logan’s eyes are an open book, pages full of thoughts and feelings. He cannot be the lone survive, that is worse than condemning an angel to be the devil’s slave. He’d never last long anyway, no doubt only suffer more agony than that he has already endured. With such thoughts slithering through my brain, I freeze, and feel the tear drop slide free from my hand. The shattering sound is all that can be heard within the cave.
‘Thank you.’
Such small words soaked with so much emotion let me know that destroying the antidote is what needed to be done. No one should survive alone, no one should have to bear the pain of isolation and desperation. I clutch Logan’s hand, this time I’m drawing strength from him as I see his eyes begin to dim. His pulse beats ‘dum, dum…dum.’ I wait for his heart to beat again, a sign that he hasn’t abandoned me, that he is still alive… yet, I get none. Anger poisons my blood that rushes through my veins as silent rivers flow from my eyes. Why wouldn’t they make vaccines?! More antidotes?! Saved more people? No one will be left. No one is immune.
Hot water floods my mouth, a hammer pounds the inside of my skull and sweat leaks from my body. I’ll die too. It must be soon, no one lasts long and I’ve been lucky so far. I do not wish for my life to end, but the piercing pain I endure now of my heart being torn from my body as though by talons is a far worse feeling. The shadows stretch across the rock and I seek the comfort of such a beautiful sight. I crawl inch by inch forward to the cliff edge and swing my feet over. Lying back, I let the cold seep into my skin as the sun disappears, as though it too is defeated. I hold my breath, close my eyes and wait.