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Fungus Among Us

By profedtt All Rights Reserved ©

Scifi

Fungus Among Us

My wife isn’t the woman she used to be.

When we were younger, we traveled the world looking for transcendence. We wanted to be gods who tread the same dirt as their creations. Money wasn’t an issue to us; we could always manage to find it. We backpacked Europe during the Federation Wars. We parachuted into the Asian Confederacy during the Japanese rebellions. After the Texan Militia massacres and the bombing of Mexico City, we ran with bandits down the long road to South America and freed American prisoners of war.

Our love life was violently ecstatic. We knew things about each others’ soul that allowed us each to explore the chasm that is the human psyche and use what we found there for pleasure … and pain.

We weren’t perfect. Our travels kept us thin and lean, but “healthy” is the last word I’d use to describe us. Going against Federation regulations, we grew our own tobacco and marijuana and just about anything else you could grow, process, and ingest. We burned ourselves in the ritual of Tczatloc in Peru, scarring ourselves with iron and suffering through the painful visions of the hallucinogenic properties of the Ramaat infection it created. We drank the blood of newborns murdered in China during the Dysgenic Movement.

My wife was viciously intelligent and we worked together flawlessly through everything life could throw at us.

Now we live here in this small habitat, away from the world and away from what we used to be. We reached an age where running became difficult. Climbing fences and dodging bullets brought lingering pains worse than the sting of barbed wire or the bite of shrapnel.

We aged.

My wife first showed signs of change after our third year here. I blame myself. I went through a bout of depression after I was cut from the Colonial Council. We had a fight, a continuation of hostilities I had instigated with various other colonials after the incident at the Council Habitat. I brought my anger home to her and she absorbed it until I had nothing left.

She took to staring out at the plains without saying anything for long periods of time. I would work on the vaporizers and mend the connections between the Northern Arterial Pipeline and our small habitat, while she would stay inside and look through her window at nothing. I would drive my utility hauler in front of the window, but she wouldn’t look at me.

When the Chatter outbreak spread through the colony, we survived. The entire western hemisphere was evacuated and our beautiful little Martian home was abandoned by humanity.

After correspondence with the Martian Colonial government, my wife and I were allowed to remain here and keep our connection to the lifeline that is the Arterial pipeline coming down to us from the icecaps.

I imagine her running through the last rainforests with a J37 Incinerator strapped over her shoulders.

I can see her garrote the President of the Western American Alliance.

I can feel her pressing the hot barrel of a laser rifle against my chest, right above my heart.

And now she stands rigid, her skin the color of stone, her eyes black and glossy. The spore-releasing stalks that are a trademark of the Chatter fungus branch out from her body and twist in strange helix patterns. There in front of the window, the suns rays activated the latent fungus within her and she died as the fungus spread faster than she could react.

Every two weeks, I strip down to nakedness in preparation for the release of spores. My body is not what it used be. As I sit, my belly pushes my legs apart. The spore shower covers me in a fine powdery snow. I open my mouth and choke myself on the spore cloud – I rub it vigorously into my eyes – I cut gashes in my skin and press the powder into my flesh.

I am immune to its colonization efforts.

There are days I stare out that window with her, and I think of killing myself. In all our travels, we came to believe in perpetuity of passion. I don’t know if she is in there, past those obsidian orbs, but I cannot take the chance that she is not.

I long for infection, but my damned body is stronger than my love.

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Profezzer: This is a prequel of sorts to a much larger drama that happens a couple thousand years in the future. The Olafson saga is as good as any I have read and ranks up there with some greats in terms of plot and the construction of her universe. Her one detraction is spelling and punctuation but do n...

kim: This is great! Maybe it could just be a little more specific. One of the keys to great writing is describing things in detail. I think you're off to a great start. I wish you much luck.

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dancegirlcali: This is the first book I read on Inkitt and I have to say I loved it! The plot was decent and executed nicely. It was a solid length and I got it done quicker than I expected. I enjoyed the writing style a lot. It was very clean and simple. The only thing I don't really get it is the random aster...

rafajogosmmo: If the second book was not free I would buy it even if I am poor, the book got me hocked all the way to the finish.I hope the second one lives up to the first, I really do.The only problem that I had with the book is that it is a bit confusing to know the side characters, I would get confused bec...

Schaelz: I was intrigued from the second I started reading, and it kept my interest the whole way through. Chelsea has a way with words that will enchant you until the very end. She is very poetic with the way she mixes genres and keeps you on the edge of your seat. The main character is also very relat...

Dru83: This is the second or third time I've read this one and I just love it. It has just about everything you could ever want packed into one scifi story. It still has some parts that are a little rough in terms of grammar, punctuation, and word usage, but it's still an awesome story. I love how detai...

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