#3 - Make Me Sick

Prompt: A person has the ability to make people very ill. 

Crunching leaves under foot, she walked along. She couldn't hear the crunch of course. Her ear buds were firmly resting, pumping the wail of a guitar into her brain. The vibrations of her mind coursed along with the music. 

Her hands were tucked in the hoodie pocket. Her favorite hoodie, dark gray with a dragon silhouette across the front,  read 'Fire Force.' It was Fire Force's guitar riff that was her whole world as she made to cross the street. 

A few street lamps were out. A trash can was lying on its side. The traffic light switched from green to red and a car sped by a few blocks away. It was peaceful and familiar. All the straight lines of pavement, road and sidewalk, all intersecting at perfect right angles. Even the stoops of the apartments stood out in a perfect pattern. She was like a marble in an intricate maze, and that's how she liked it. 

The leaves crunched behind her. Another marble was coursing the maze too. This one was larger, and its goal was not to find the right hole to plop through on its way home. This marble's goal was to break her. 

The shadow fell over her as she stepped under the street lamp. Immediately she knew something was off, someone was there who shouldn't be. Her maze was invaded and so was her personal space. Large arms, muscular and vice-like, wrapped around her and pulled her out of the light. 

Into an alley she was dragged, literally kicking and screaming. But the shouts only echoed off the brick. There was no one to hear. No one heard her cries for help. No one heard the man slap her, punch her, shove her against the dumpster. She did not hear anything after her head slammed into the metal then bounce and cracked against the wall.

She awoke to streams of daylight peeking over the rooftops. Her head pounded. She reached to touch it, but the pressure of her fingertips sent lightening through her. Everything hurt. Everything was sore, cut, and sticky with dried blood. 

Sitting up, she examined her hands. They were covered in alley gunk, dirt and who knew what else. Her hoodie was torn, the right sleeve was hanging limply from a few stitches. Her jeans were ripped and unbuttoned, the zipper was broken. 

Looking down she saw it then, the blood stains on her jeans. It was like she had pissed herself, pissed blood. This wasn't right. No, nothing was right. She should have woken up in her own bed with her hoodie and jeans draped over the chair. The sunlight should have peeked through the window, not over a rooftop. She shouldn't have blood all over herself. She shouldn't be so sore, sore everywhere she could feel. 

"Help," she called out. Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. It felt like pushing jello over sandpaper. "Someone, help!" Remembering her cell phone she felt her pockets, but it wasn't there. They were all empty, barren like the alleyway, like her memory. 

She looked toward the street. Cars drove by, unaware. There would be people, that's what the cars meant, she thought. Almost crying from the pain she got to her feet and everything spun. The bricks wiggled and the ground rose up. She caught herself on the dumpster. 

With hands on the wiggling wall, she stumbled toward the street. It felt like a mile before the world opened up into her perfect maze. A man stopped midstride as the alley released her and she tumbled forward. 

"Miss, are you alright?" The man asked. She found his face, his eyes, and was surprised by his expression. He was appalled and concerned. "Let me help you."

He took her arm and she winced. She winced again as she was sat upon a step. The man pulled out a phone and began talking to her, or to someone on the cell phone. She couldn't tell.

Now, she was on fire. Her head throbbed. Her limbs shook. Her stomach back-flipped. It flipped again and pushed up anything that could be left inside. Her sandpaper throat became wet and hot. 

Just before she blacked out she remembered the big arms pulling her away - and she hoped those arms were in as much pain as she was.

Fifteen miles away, a man doing his morning workout routine fell onto the mat. His muscles burned, but not like when he had done too many reps. It was like they were set on fire. The fire raced up and down his arms then shot across his shoulders. When it reached his spine, his mind gave up. He blacked out.