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ichor injected in their veins as they throb together like beasts in the
artificial light.
My fear tells me that the amber drug is working. This will be the
32nd time I have died, my 31st pseudo-death. Dimethyltryptamine,
more commonly known as
DMT
is only a chemical similar to that of
the one released at death. It is the year 2080
AD
and we cannot die
without the help of those called the Euthanisers.
In between the thrum of perfect bodies, I remember seeing green.
Her green.
I fall in love.
It is not until the night passes that news of the plague seeping
through to other sectors begins to spread. The population becomes
a state of mass hysteria.
My father closes the doors of theHouse ofMedical-Advancement,
shutting in, along with me, hundreds of doctors, researchers and
scientists to try, try, try again.
Three-thousand-six-hundred-and-one days and three-thousand-
six-hundred nights will pass with us, untouched by the toxic outside
world and I will finally become a success in my father’s eyes. In history
this will be called the Concourse. I will have found Panacea.
But I do not know yet of the consequences. I will become Oz the
curer, the hope, the leader to New World after the plague, and like
all leaders named Ozymandias, my great empire falls.
‘
The House of M
11