Inside The Virus’s Head

I blinked a few times, my vision hazy and my head pounding painfully. After squeezing my eyes shut, I ripped them open, and gasped loudly. I felt incredibly ill and weak, and I could barely decipher what was happening around me.

This is death, isn’t it? But how am I dying when I’ve just been given the gift of birth?

This was a morbid sight to behold, like that of a stillborn child. You give them hope of survival, only to callously and coldly shred that hope into a million pieces and take its life away. This was how I exactly felt.

Suddenly, I sensed a strong source of energy beckoning and luring me to succumb to it, and as I meekly glanced to my right, I saw him. It was a boy, one who was dressed in a midnight blue shirt, and a pair of grey shorts. His hair was a large heap of brown curls, and his chocolate coloured eyes twinkled against the florescent lights. He was laughing ecstatically among a few of his friends and I simpered. His positive energy that shone so bright and radiated off him soothed me as I finally accepted my fate of dreaded doom and despair. If this was the last thing I’d see before I meet Death, then perhaps the experience, no matter how short, was worthwhile.

Oh how I wished I could live a little longer and be this boy’s friend. Oh how I hope to be blessed with the gift of company and camaraderie.

Before I knew it, feeding into my perplexity, the boy joyously slammed his hand against the surface was sprawled out on, and I felt the inexplicable rush and wave of strength, like I’ve been slammed with life all in one split second, and overwhelming me with a newfound gift of life.

A second chance!

Realisation hit me like a crashing tsunami wave while I was given extremely vague memory of my historic background. I am a virus, and my name is COVID-19, but people nicknamed me as Corona. That was all I knew.

I was moved away from the surface I was on, and as I blinked, I noticed that my deathbed was a dull and mundane shade of grey coating a rectangular table. As I frowned and twisted my head slightly, I finally realised who had saved my life.

It was the curly haired, happy boy, who now carried me in his palm, unknowingly. My confusion transformed into pure elation as my heart ached with gratitude for him. He saved my life, and he was now my friend!

I watched him as he laughed and spoke with his friends, while he was completely unaware of my presence.

“Peter, come look! Annie’s challenged Thomas into a fist fight!”

Peter, who was my host, stood up and walked outside into the field in his school, and I smiled in adoration towards my friend. I was going to make sure that I lived my life happily with Peter.

***

Well, perhaps I judged too soon.

Initially, everything was as perfect as I always wanted it to be. However, it all began to change when Peter rubbed his eye, and I was moved over from Peter’s palm, to Peter’s left eye. He started to grow fatigued at concerning speed, and he’d continuously cough, though he never really took it seriously, because he just thought he was coming down with the flu.

We all thought he was coming down with the flu.

But then … Peter caught a nasty fever, and it wouldn’t leave him alone, and I began to worry. Why was my best friend so ill?

Peter’s mother worriedly took him to the hospital to perform a checkup on him, and I awaited the results along with Peter and his mother.

Once the doctor returned with the results, I strained my ears to pay attention to what he had to say.

“Well, Doctor? Is everything alright?” His mother asked hopefully and eagerly.

Peter limply slouched on the chair, his eyes drooping exhaustedly and the fever causing him to release beads of uncomfortable sweat along his temple and forehead.

The Doctor pitifully pursed his lips before sighing, and miserably saying, “Ma’am, I’m afraid your son has COVID-19.”

His mother was stunned, her face draining of any colour, and her mouth hung ajar. I remained confused, however. Yes, Peter had me. I am his friend. How does that have anything to do with Peter being ill?

“I suggest we admit Peter to the hospital where he will be under extreme care and will be given all the rest he needs. If not treated properly, the coronavirus can kill him.” The doctor went on, and my eyes widened.

Kill Peter? Why on earth would I ever want to kill my best friend — my only friend?

“You will have to get tested too. You’ve been within close proximity of your son.” He spoke, and the mother’s eyes watered in brokenness and pain.

“Of course.” She whispered sadly, before squeezing her son’s shoulders reassuringly.

“You’re going to be alright, Peter.” She told him, and offered him a worried smile.

Peter barely had the strength to smile back, though he was eternally grateful for his mother’s support.

But I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand how I was going to be the end of Peter.

***

As the days progressed, Peter’s health did not. The doctors never stopped trying to cure him, and they ensured he was well rested, well fed, and given the medicines that would hopefully help in curing him — but to no avail.

Peter was getting worse the more I worried about him, but I could not help it. I wanted him to get better. I needed him to get better. And when his health only deteriorated further, I gradually grew incessantly livid. I was so aggravated and frustrated that Peter was only getting weaker, but I failed to understand that my anger only sped the process of Peter losing all his health. It was too late for me to see what I had done.

I was present when Peter took his last breath on his hospital bed before the machines tied to him emitted the heart-wrenching beep, indicating that his heart had failed him, and his soul had left his body.

I was so angry, I had completely been unaware of my weakening strength the moment Peter passed away — I was too busy fueling my anger towards the cruel world that took away Peter from me, and it was all my fault. I am not meant to have any friends.

I am cursed. The only way I can live is if I kill people, and I had to choose between the lives of potential friends or my life.

As the nurse taking care of Peter’s body accidentally brushed her fingers across Peter’s hand, where part of my body lingered, my survival instincts kicked in, and as I was given the gift of rebirth once more, I smiled with vengeance.

I’m sorry, but one of us has to live, and I selfishly pick me.

NOTE: This is in no way a message to indicate anyone to feel bad for a virus — a deadly thing that is not alive and is only trying to find hosts to infiltrate and kill. This was for pure fictional purposes based on a virus which is very real and true. I beseech the readers to do whatever you can to avoid contact with anyone and any animal near you. Practice social distancing and remain home unless deemed absolutely crucial for you to leave the premises of your homes. COVID-19 is not a joke, and must be taken very seriously. May all of you stay safe and healthy, and live to see the day where it finally disappears. x