Chapter 1: Spirit Never Expires

When the strokes had gone through the paper, I came to the conclusion that there was enough underlining for the sentence, My spirit will never expire.

I had left the letter flapping on the desk, pinned down by a snow-globe, not wanting it to be blown away with the window open. Unceremoniously wiping my face free of tears with the sleeve of my jacket, I dragged myself and a heavy bag�"that I had been secretly packing�"out of the house, in a way unspeakable for the daughter of the renowned actors Henry Eckhardt and Veronica Levin. If Simone caught me like this, she would taunt me to the day I die.

I remember mentally slapping myself. On the short walk from the window to my black jeep, I had already thought about what is now forbidden: my family and my fate. I sighed as the car started up soundlessly and tapped the steering wheel as its countless safety mechanisms awakened. Thankfully, car engines nowadays are silent�"even for the powerful and heavy four-wheel-drive that I had bought�"unlike those at the beginning of this century. That way, it was possible for me to vanish into the night, the way that wisps of smoke from a blown-out candle fade into the atmosphere.

My aim being to drive as far out of familiar territory as possible, I had gone on my way without looking back at the slumbering street. That beloved house, no larger than a speck of dust in my rear-view mirrors, would be my home no more. Everything that I had left behind was no longer mine. Even my life�"from then on, it belonged to the EXP virus and I, myself, dedicated it to finding the cure.

For the next fifteen months, mortality and family would be all but illusions, in order for me to fulfil my promise"however far a stretch it may be�"to the world.

The snowstorm in that paperweight gathering dust on my desk would have settled to reveal a photo of my happy family. The very people who taught me that I was invincible.

*****

One, two, crawl. One, two, slow. One, two, stop.

They used to say that all changes in time, but the times have certainly changed enough to put everything to a halt. The grey, spiky skyline still stretches across the horizon. The jagged line in the distance is supposed to be the source of humankind's pride, but most have grown to hate every single construction, every single invention. If anything has changed in these two months, I am proud to say that all this time on my useless road trip has made me desensitised to traffic jams. There's already been a brawl today outside a wholesale store, and that alone took up the sidewalk and half a lane. It's always some uninfected idiots who think they're top s**t and have nothing more fulfilling to do than start regular fights.

Who are they to have these rights? they say. Why are we still attending to people who are practically dead? they say, pointing fingers angrily at us"the ones branded by fifteen or less short lines that looked like staples holding us together for life's last few months. How clever is the lifeless bug"it even tells you how much longer you have to live, every day you look in the mirror. Too convenient.

Look at the permanent smoke in the sky! That's us cleaning up after your dead friends! That’s what the healthy people rave about nowadays. No, it's your grandparents in their youth having fun with child labour in factories. Then, as they went about celebrating the worldwide democracy and peace they'd dreamed of in their childhood, this little guy, the EXP, hit us, reminding everyone of how the world was to remain imperfect.

The thing is, ever since the hospitals stopped admitting victims of the EXP in favour of those with something as laughable as the annual influenza twenty years ago, the involvement of the police with the terminally ill has also gone down the drain. No reports on murders, just arming up with protection suits and carrying the bodies away to the big black incinerators on the edge of the cities. The global society has turned into a sick joke, over a tiny creature that transforms almost constantly. Its alien form, covered in fluorescent dye, always makes a few seconds of the seven o’clock news.

And me? I've had my car radio off the entire time so that I can hear things in real life approaching, but I really hope that my departure, or any gossip surrounding recent sightings, have not made the news. Impossible, I’d say, but I’m hoping.

I no longer belong to the rich and famous; I am one of them now. As much as I was itching to lend a hand to the wronged when I passed the quarrel today, past experience told me that I would get myself killed. Not in a whiny teenager's sense. Killed. The fight played on like a silent film, each soundless punch heating my blood to boiling point. These groups know what they're doing, and they won't leave until the diseased individual is bleeding out and unconscious.

So I did what I've been doing since my near-death battle experience that made me afraid of blowing my nose for weeks: pretend to ram into them and swerve away at the last minute, honking, then roll down the driver's window and flip them the bird. Speed away to infinity and beyond, having diverted around the traffic jam. Another reason why I love my sturdy four-wheel-drive to bits: the windows are completely reflective, meaning I can see everything fine from within, but the people I've scared off are also able to check their hilarious selves out as I happily diverge from the traffic congestion.

The reactions I get are always priceless, especially since my victims are those kinds of people who walk around me with a five-metre radius, when I'm feeling adventurous enough to not wear a scarf that covers my telltale Staples. I don’t trust these gangsters to have learnt the lesson, though. The guy they've beaten up will still, most likely, end up seriously injured, pretend hit-and-run or not.

To compensate, I take a massive bite out of the half-eaten chocolate bar in the bottle holder that has recently become my treasure chest overflowing with sweets. Yes, the things humans resort to when they know when they're going to die! It's nearly been two months since I left home in a rush, and I really need to get�"

I slam my foot on the brakes, hard, nearly breaking my nose again on the steering wheel. The screeching probably signals a change of tyres, which I won't be able to afford, now. Damn, where are the prophesied smart robots that are meant to be flying us around? Our ancestors surely had a great time with hallucinogens. I hope the guy I nearly ran over hasn't been taking those.

"F**k! What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out of the f*****g way, you moron! You trying to get yourself killed?" I wind down the passenger window halfway and expel some dangerous sound waves. It must look ridiculous if anybody's glancing my way�"I have a loud voice, so I presume somebody is�"all that they will see is a pair of black aviator sunglasses somehow shouting profanity at an innocent pedestrian.

Then I see it. He isn't an innocent pedestrian. The empty expression he wears and the signature branding of the EXP pandemic that runs above the round collar of his white T-shirt renders him guilty as charged. I can't figure out how many months he has left, but there are more than ten.

He did want to get himself killed, but had around a year left to fill. Loser. "Move!" I punch the centre of the steering wheel repeatedly, releasing bouts of noise pollution. The dude looks frozen. I realise with frustration that if he doesn't get rid of the motive, he's not going to stop until a less-focused driver does run into him. It angers me; I might as well do the favour myself.

Changing the world starts with changing your own self.

Oh, ancestors, you were too philosophical for your own good. How many pathetic victims are out there, waiting to be run over? Will I become one?

My hand unconsciously finds the button that opens the passenger door.

I am definitely going to regret this.

"Get in."

I’ll save a life today.

Author's Note

Contains swearing

Copy and pasting had issues so some dashes have turned into quotation marks