Lukewarm liquid, much like a sticky tar-like drool, running down the throat to the stomach where the acids will make love in the body. And it settles into its new home space. The wet intruders are the deepest shade of black, only somewhat shiny and seemed like some sort of runny jam. The gag reflex wants to expel the obsidian fluids, but the physical form is at rest. Given up. The mind falls away and the consciousness shuts off like a television in a dark room. The lips fall away and air can once again find its way through to the lungs.
I stroll through the crowded streets toward the grocery store, the rubber soles of my shoes slapping on the concrete. Milk, bread, shampoo. I list in my head, remembering the necessities. Though the weather forecast is as bipolar as my bedridden mother, we on the east coast always prepared for the worse. It's supposed to snow tonight.
"Fear! You must fear the end of days! Christ, out lord, will save us! Repent for your sins before it is too late!" A man clad in some roughed up nylon jacket the color of muddy traffic cones shouted from the entrance of the store. He had poster boards with many different slogans picketing against humanities sins.
"Bogus," I grumbled, tugging on my jacket to fight the brisk wind rushing past me as I enter.
He didn't hear me.
He went on with his speeches about God and doom.
And I fought the hordes of people to get what I needed for the next few days, then went home. The television bloomed from inside my mother's room: the news.
"Who is it?"
"'It's me ma!" Who else would it be in our house?
Once the groceries were put away, I laid in bed with Janice, my mother, who still didn't know who I was. Our nightly routine: watch the news, dinner, bed. The doctor said routine was good for her.
She eats, her lips smacking as she enjoys her soup and crackers, and she doesn't pay much attention to me. I don't mind because sometimes when she seem me she gets upset and yells, which our neighbors do not appreciate. They complained for a while until they realized why the noise what happening. Now they just pass pitying glances in the hallway or mail room whenever they see me.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" That was the only question that seemed appropriate in this situation. A man, who was about thirty-four and had a clean, healthy record, was vomiting as EMTs rushed his body in. I thought whatever was coming from him was blood, a dark burgundy, but through further inspection I realized it was black. What the hell had he eaten?
I spent my lunch break in my friend's office. She was a beautiful half Indian woman who was one hell of a doctor. She had shoulder length, ebony hair that she styled every morning somehow. I could hardly run a brush through my hair. She was one of my best friends in this place, and I didn't have any college friends because I didn't want to go to college. I tossed my packed lunch on her desk and sat with a deep groan. "I don't even know how you are eating that after what we just saw."
"Frankie, I perform surgeries on the daily, a little vomit and blood do nothing to my appetite." She chuckled, crossing her legs that were propped up on her desk. She kicked her heels off and sighed.
"But have you ever seen anything like that? Is the dude okay?" I glanced at my lunch longingly. But anytime I thought about what I saw my stomach churned nervously. Something wasn't right.
"Only things similar, but we have people testing what came out of him. And, uh, no...he died shortly after they brought him in. Whatever he had had got him too fast. He must've been sick for a while without coming in." She shrugged, glancing down at her meal. "Didn't look like the common cold though."
No, it definitely did not.
