Not bad for a deadly poison is about all I could think before my consciousness began to slip away. I vaguely remembered the doctor running to catch me as the ground rushed to do the same and then nothing.

I opened my eyes to see the beaker shattered in front of me. It’s contests spilled and already beginning to dry. Weirdly everything looked a little green. From the dull orange glow on the walls I could tell the sun had begun to set meaning I’d been out cold for at least 5 hours. Realizing it had been a minute since I regained consciousness I began to stir. My body was still a little stiff from the impact I assumed. The doctor didn’t end up making it to me on time then. The doctor! I jerked my head up and turned it to the other side. He was lying a foot away from me. I turned away before I could see more but I’d seen enough. His eyes has dissolved and it looked like his brain had too or at least that’s what I assumed was seeping out of his nostrils and ears. Fear and confusion began to set in. How much longer before I died? Why hadn’t I already died? How is he dead if I had the poison? Lost in the rush of my thoughts I didn’t realize that I’d crawled away to sit up against the door of his lab. I could only see the lower half of his body from behind the table now. I can’t believe he’s gone. I tried to push up further away from his body but my hands kept slipping on the floor. In all the panic that struck me as odd since the floor was as dry as a lab floor can be. I looked at my hands and saw that there seemed to be some sort of oily layer on them. It looked a little green too. I traced my hand prints back to where I was lying and I saw a big patch of this same oil in the shape of my body on the floor there. It looked like a body outline at a murder scene except it wasn’t my body that was dead. I slowly stood up and walked around the table that hid doc’s body. It was exactly what I feared — he had the oil on his hands. The fingertips were already starting to blacken with a dark green at the edge. The implication was too much for me. I could feel the bile rising as I ran out of his lab.

Furiously pedalling my bicycle on my way home I didn’t notice the oil patches I left behind on the road or on the stairwell. I got home and ran straight to the bathroom. The last time my body was scrubbed so hard was when my mother took it upon herself to rid my body of its epidermis. I watched the oil swirl around the shower floor and disappear into the drain. A faint film of green over the soapy water creating a neat spiral. It reminded me a tree frog I’d seen on Planet Earth once. As I stepped out of the shower I towelled myself multiple times to be sure that I’d gotten all the oil off. Satisfied on not seeing the tiniest amount of green on my white towel I stepped out of the bathroom.

That was maybe the last moment of peace I ever felt. A fleeting sense of control before my worst fears came true. The poison seemed to reacted with my body in a way that is beyond my understanding. All I know is that I produce copious amounts of it through my skin now. Anything living that touches the oil doesn’t remain that way for long. Washing it away doesn’t help either. The news channels reported mass fish deaths in the rivers that handle our towns run offs. As far as I can tell even leaving it alone doesn’t make it any less deadly. Judging by my experiments on the flies that I managed to trap in my apartment it looks like the oil vapour is just as fatal. I’m scared all the time now. More than one person has died because of me — I think it was the oil I left behind on my way home. The news channels are calling it a chemical spill but I know it’s already gotten government attention. It’s a small town. Word gets around fast when outsiders come in. I’m starting to run out of food too now. I made a few grocery runs earlier but they’re too risky. I can’t control the oil and no matter how well I bathe it’s back within 10 minutes. I wish I had more courage. I would hang myself. Or burn myself. I don’t know. Anything but this. God, help me. I wish I could kill myself. At least death would bring release. Death would bring peace. God. The god of death. That’s what I’ve become. Maybe I’ll walk upto the nearest reservoir and take a quick dip. I’ll help millions that way. Help them find the release I can’t seem to find.

—————- This is the first time I’ve ever written anything outside of my notebook and even that’s mostly just notes and bits. Not a writer by any stretch of my imagination but I’d like to try so please be generous with your feedback.