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IMMUNE

She sat there as she always had in front of her computer, and she cried out why? Why had so many become ill and died. She, after all, was still here. Still tormented with the memories. They just vanished and no one cared after a generation of pain.

No one knew each other but all came together for a solemn moment to kiss the wind that brushed the hair of the people they had loved. They dared not leave the underworld, the tunnels they had built to protect themselves from a world so scary it broke in half at the thought of change. They all sat as she sat, but only she dared to cry.

Empathy and wonder are not emotions necessary if you dull away your existence. She still felt under the burden of lifelessness that something within her need to awakened, to react to this climatic momentarily valley of shadow. She collected the pain and degradation of the people passed before the inquisitions. They were nothing new, a change was that some that were undesirable we allowed entry.

And for what? The purest were still evil in some level. She was an experiment. A control in the journey. One of those that had not been manipulated, had not been allowed the luxury of the age of knowledge. She was blinded by day and worked at night without question. Until now.

How had she survived everything? How did she escape the victimization her family experienced. After all she had the same evil thrust into her body at any given moment. When they were bored she was their slave. When they wanted amusement they forced her to obey. And everyone else died but her.

When in the window she saw daylight one last time and became ill of the cancer. It ate her and healed her. She was a miracle and a curse. She and the others here were anomalies in the experiment. After all the lifespan of the disease brought death in only six months. This was so the things that had been done to them never rose to the surface populous.

Who would fight for the underground slave trade after all? History and her time had taught her that the most, that humans allow atrocities for fear of becoming involved. She could not identify as human anymore. She was ugly, hairless, clear eyed. She was a lucky one of normal height but wasteful in weight. She would surely be more ostracized than before the change.

The change happened as it did with everyone else. Only one percent of the people with her cancer lived and of those they had to be monitored round the clock for complications. At least that was the story they gave everyone. This made the “diseased” voiceless.

Lies about how contagious the condition was spread round the people of the surface. Most had never even seen a victim, they just were glad it was not them or their family. The disease mostly held against the lower class of workers as their bodies were perfect for experiments. Generations of labor made them better at healing and once the cure was found it was sold at high market value.

But her cry was another shriek at the failure of the folly being covered up. They would surely be angered by her. She would be punished. If not forever silenced. She recollected herself and went back to work. Danger was her friend, sin was their pitfall, and fear lead the masses to ignore the cry they all heard within their hearts from her pain.

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Random writing, contemplating

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