Sarah is a self-professed accidental hipster (who refuses to apologise for this). She has published two books so far, and is currently working (procrastinating) on the next one.
Sarah holds a Master’s Degree from the University of Huddersfield, in addition to a BA (Hons) and Qualified Teacher Status. After realising teaching wasn’t for her, Sarah took to the internet to find a job that allowed her to stay home in her pyjamas, and stumbled serendipitously across freelance writing. From there, Sarah Jules Writing Services was born. She still can’t believe how lucky she is that this is her real-life, adult, job!
If Sarah isn’t working, you can find her with her nose stuck in a book, travelling the UK with her partner, and her rescue pup, or sweating it out in the gym. She is a mental health advocate, coffee addict, and loves all things spooky and/or creepy.
Sarah blogs (super-hipster, she knows) about all things books, writing and publishing on both her Instagram (@sarahjuleswriting).
You can read more from Sarah and connect with her right HERE.
SMALL BUT DEADLY
by
Sarah Jules
There’s a misconception that the fiercest, largest creatures are the deadliest. People fear the great white sharks that stalk the seas, but not the single-celled organisms that swarm our coastlines, lying in wait for their next unsuspecting victim. The organism, the creature, the parasite, whatever you want to call it, will be named after me, which is only right, as I discovered it. It lives inside me now, making my body its home and feasting on my insides. I am a medical anomaly. A medical marvel. The first to suffer from this creature’s wrath, to the knowledge of my doctors, at least.
The doctors can do nothing, and so they wait for me to die. ‘My comfort is paramount,’ they say while I lie in the starched white bedding, blood leaking from my mucosal membranes, the fluorescent tubes overhead grating at my nerve endings. They stand on the outside of my treatment room, plexiglass protecting them from the beast within my veins. They took their swabs and decided I was a lost cause. I’ve been pumped full of antifungal drugs, to no avail. My body is weak, my brain is foggy. And so I too wait to die. It’s taking me quickly, which is a blessing, both for me and for the doctors. They’re itching to get their hands on my brain, and my other organs. To slice and dice me and claim me for their various papers. If a metaphorical flag sat on my chest, it would read, ‘I claim this body for science.’
Yesterday, was the best day of my life. The irony isn’t lost on me. The sun beat against my skin. The waves lapped my ankles. ‘Let’s go for a swim,’ Mandy, my wife, said. God, I bet she regrets those words. They won’t allow her to see me. Not even from beyond my quarantined room. Medical personnel only. I smile at the thought of her attempting to break through. I’d rather be in my position than those who are trying to keep her away from me. My wife is perhaps more fierce than the organism inside me.
There’s a pressure behind my eyes that pushes the room out of focus. Before the pain can really settle in, make itself at home, somebody must notice the flash of discomfort on my face and medication is pumped into me through the port in my arm. My comfort is paramount after all. I raise my hand to wipe the leaking from my eyes. It’s no surprise to me that my fingers come away slick with startling red blood.
I close my eyes and think of Mandy and I in the sea, fighting the waves and splashing one another. The only clue that the creature had made its way into my body was a tingling sensation down below, but Mandy had pressed her body against mine and the sensation was forgotten. The doctors say that I wouldn’t have felt the monster enter me, but I did. I swear I did. I’m just thankful that it was me and not Mandy. I’ve long since said I’d give my life for her, and now that I stare death in the face, I know that to be true.
My eyes are heavy and I want to sleep. Whether it’s the drugs, or my killer slowly eating away at my vital organs, I don’t know. I try not to think of it but every time I close my eyes I see it boring away through my brain, my spinal column, my heart, like a worm through an apple. Until now, I’ve always thought of it as one organism. One deadly creature. But don’t most single-celled organisms multiply?
‘Doctor?’ I say. My voice is hoarse, barely audible over the bleating of the monitors.
‘Yes?’ A voice comes over the intercom.
‘Has it multiplied, or is it still just the one?’ I stumble over my words, my mouth feels full of cotton wool.
‘Unfortunately, parasites such as these usually multiply at an alarming rate.’
Fuck.
‘I can offer you a sedative, to make you more comfortable?’
He doesn’t have to say the words ‘while you die’ but they’re implied.
I turn my head and stare directly at the people in white coats. The masks over their faces blur their identities from me. I’m not sure whether it would be easier if I could see their faces; to see the contortion between scientific curiosity and sympathy.
‘I’m sorry,’ the doctor mumbles, as an afterthought, no doubt. I’m fascinating. A lab-rat.
‘It is what it is.’
I don’t want to die in pain. But I also don’t want to miss the last physical sensations I’ll have in this body.
I wonder what the parasites gnawing on me look like.
It doesn’t take long for me to learn. Time passes in stuttered moments. One minute. One hour. One day. I can’t grasp hold of it. Not that it matters anymore.
A single parasite, I wouldn’t be able to see, but the parasite is no longer just one. It is no longer singular. They culminate like king rats in sewers, bodies writhing together until you can’t tell one from the next. The parasites look like yellow pus and subcede the bleeding from my eyes. My ears. The trickle from my mouth. I’m sure they’re fighting their way into the world under the cover of my hospital gown too. My hands are too heavy to wipe at my leaking orifices. It doesn’t hurt. Maybe the doctor gave me more pain meds after all, and just didn’t tell me. It’s a medical violation I won’t be able to argue.
If the parasites are overflowing from me, then my body has to be filled to the brim. It’s only logical. I lie there and wait for my organs to give up. I’ll be a pus-filled plastic carrier bag before long.
The darkness begins with a yellow hue. I’m unable to close my eyes, my killers fill the space between my eyelids.
Eventually, I fall-