I hate math and I wrote this while suffocating in a hot shower [hr] [b][u]Dr. Viktor Nikola Ivanov[/u][/b] What has my life amounted to? Not much, apparently. I have always dreamt of being a contributor to something, but...all I have ever contributed to were weapons of mass destruction. I am a weapon of mass destruction. Am I poisonous? If we are technical, yes, I am. There are toxins mixed with the blood flowing through my veins- is it even blood anymore, or just chemicals? Is it even flowing? When I place my hand to my chest, I do not feel a beat. I feel nothing. My blood is stagnant and rotting. And yet I feel absolutely nothing. You would think decomposing would hurt, but it didn't. I didn't notice. Sixty-four years in frigid water, with my cells turning to nothingness, only to be rebuilt the next day in a perverse manner. Rebuilt, but not the same. Not as God intended. An utter crime against nature, my existence is. I cannot exactly remember what it was like in the depths of that lake, most likely because half of the time pieces of my brain were seeping out of the cracks in my skull. I did not have the ability to remain lucid most of the time. I was, for a time, fish food. But there were no fishes in that lake. Everything there was dead, including me...if only partially. Exponential growth. Exponential growth will surpass any linear decay in terms of speed, given enough time. If you draw a negative linear function and a positive exponential function on a graph, eventually, they will intersect. In algebraic terms, this is the "solution". The answer to where both of the functions are satisfied. At some point in time, they are temporarily equal to each other. There is a negative, linear equation on that graph that represents the rate of decay. The decay of my body. The positive, exponential function is my affliction. The one that stitches my cells back together after they have ceased. At first, it barely did anything. It was slow, unnoticed. It fed on the radioactivity of its surroundings, leeching it out of the water, and eventually becoming so potent that it fed itself. The rate of decay stayed the same, but the rate of its growth only expanded. They intersected briefly, and then the balance was broken. Even so, my body continues to decay, if only to be replaced quicker and quicker… but eventually, both functions will meet infinity. I wonder if I will meet infinity, an abstract concept. I cannot die because I am already dead. My body is attempting to do as nature intended, but this man-made manifestation of pure willpower is keeping me alive [hr] [b][u]The Devouring (Unfinished)[/u][/b] [i][b]6:00 PM[/b][/i] I just shot something that was running through the field. It was hidden behind two grazing sheep. That midnight black coat of fur gave it away… It stuck out like a piece of the void in the pasture. I aimed. I fired. I hit. The body tumbled through the dust and settled by a hickory stump. [b][i]6:02 PM[/i][/b] I have to trudge across the entire field to get to the carcass. I have no idea what I’m looking at. It looks back at me with bright red eyes. What are you, strange creature? Fangs, claws, tail- bushy, black fur. Coyotes don’t have black fur. It looks back at me with bright red eyes. It’s staring at me. It’s dead. Why do you look at me like that? With that crooked jaw hanging wide open, I see a maw lined with too many teeth- I see a forked tongue lolling out and poking the dirt. It looks back at me with bright red eyes! It blinks? My heart skips a beat and I unsheath my hunting knife. I pick it up by the scruff of the neck. No bigger than a pup. The head falls limply to the side and hangs at an awkward angle. “You’re dead.” And yet it looks back at me...with bright red eyes. [b][i]6:05 PM[/i][/b] The bullet went clean through the chest cavity. At first, I thought there was no blood, but the puddle of inky black liquid pooling on the ground told me otherwise. It is so dark I can hardly tell it apart from the body. There's blood on my hands now. It reminds me of crude oil, and yet...I can't stop salivating. Why- why am I so hungry? My grip on the knife loosens. It hits the ground with a soft thud. [b][i]6:07 PM[/i][/b] I learned how to skin game when I was very young. My father would take me for hunting trips on days he wasn't busy and taught me many things. I have a refined technique from years of experience- I take pride in my work. Which is why I'm not sure why I'm digging my fingers into the bullet hole, desperately trying to peel the skin and fur off. It resists. I pull. I tug. It relents. This is all very sloppy. The pelt is ruined and my shirt is stained, but I don't care. There is a hole in its chest now, large enough to fit most of my hand. With its head hanging upside down it almost appears to be grinning... Is this what you want? No, this is about me. This is what I want! There is something hidden in your chest and I NEED IT. I can hear its muffled beating in my ear. Pulsating. Oozing. Confined behind prison bars of bone and a wall of flesh. My nails dig into muscle and my stomach feels more hollow than ever. I can't grab it. My hand is too slick with blood. [b][i]6:08 PM[/i][/b] Snap. There's a hollow crunch as the rib my fingers were wrapped around gave way and broke apart. Another snap. Another bone broken. I can now fit my hand into the ribcage. It's still warm. The pads of my fingers rub against slick flesh. Organs and muscles. Where is it? I feel it in my palm. A heart. It doesn't beat, but I swear I can hear it in my ears. Thundering. Drumming. It doesn't beat, but it clicks. Not literally. It clicks to me that this is what I've been looking for. My fingers wrap around the heart of the beast, and my free hand digs into its fur.