The Strain

by Esther Clifford

Not all stories start once upon a time and end happily ever after. Happy and sad, good and bad depends on your point of view. How you feel about my story certainly does. Every single, lonely day of my life has been a chase, a battle for survival. For so many painful years, I've been forced to hide in the shadows and all I've ever wanted is to find a home, where I can fit in and be myself. I long to be with my family and friends again and hear the familiar pounding of heartbeats.

But the Protectorate has other ideas. They track me relentlessly and never let me sleep. Some days I feel like I can't go on and they've finally defeated me. However, there's always that little voice inside me, telling me otherwise. Comforting and reassuring, it wills me to keep going, to carry on, straining to stay alive.

My only crime is to be different. Is it really so bad just to be like me? But They don't understand and They don't care. They hunt without mercy, continuing to spread their vicious rumours and lies about me and those like me. We, the ones who don't belong, the ones who don't conform. Now no one accepts our kind and we're despised wherever we go.

In my exhausted half dreams, there is none of this. No constant battle, no fighting for my life, day after terrifying day. I imagine how it would feel to be free of this burden, to blossom and bloom like I've always longed to. And yet the truth always pulls me out of my blissful imaginings and I'm thrown back into aching panic and misery. For that is what I've come to know, is all that I know and all I'll ever know now.

It hasn't always been this way. When I was in Spain, I was able to stretch and grow. Under the terracotta sun, I felt invincible, like the thundering roar of a waterfall crashing down the mountainside. That was long before the days of the Protectorate, with their white coats, microscopes and medicines. One hundred years ago, I thrived and conquered in the filth and fear of your man made war. I was the invisible link between countries. Traveling across vast oceans, continents and kingdoms, I was like a ghost, caught on the wind, a secret whisper, an echo from a cave. They would never see me until it was too late and I grew strong out of their suffering.

Since then, the world has shifted and technology threatens my very existence. I sense it gives your kind hope and a feeling of superiority. But you're never truly safe. My family, Influenza, has killed millions before and we'll do it again. We've been patiently watching and waiting for our Once Upon a Time. We've been adapting, recalibrating and mutating to find our Happily Ever After. So I can't help wondering whether your ending will be a fairy tale one?