The poison hadn’t killed me. I could see the darkness of my veins, my skin was still an unearthly pale but I was alive. My hair hadn’t fallen out like Wikipedia said it probably would. It still covered my eyes, midnight black and straight. Good thing too, my eyes were no longer green. They had turned this strange darkish color, whether or not they were dark brown or purple I had no idea. All I knew is that they looked…. just flat out weird.

The poison hadn’t made me feel any worse either; in fact I felt better than I had ever felt. My senses were so much more…acute. I could see the dust particles floating around in the air and hear the kids whispering in the library from across the street. I was faster too, and much stronger. I could snatch those annoying little gnats out of the air. I could outrun that evil greyhound that lived in the woods beside my house. The poison hadn’t killed me. It had healed me when it had killed millions all over the world.

The scientists had identified it as some complicated-word-that-no-one-uses virus and named it lethal. They had no idea where it came from, or even what it was exactly. The scientists that tried to study it ended up dead the next week. Everyone called it the OneWeek or the OW for short, because everyone who caught it only lasted about a week. The symptoms are pale skin, clumps of hair falling out, blackened nails, hallucinations, and having constant chills. The victim’s body temperature drops slowly until they die a painful death, filled with intense coughing and convulsing. It’s not a pretty sight. My friend Hayden got it and tried to hide it until he died in one of those fits in the middle of a pep rally. His girlfriend jumped on him and caught the OW and spread it all over the school, considering she went with every other guy in the school on the side. Except me of course, I was an outsider even back then. I had caught the virus from my dog named Lucky Jack. Not so lucky anymore, Jack. He was mean anyways, I fed him a jalapeno when I was 9 and he’s hated me ever since.

This disease had killed millions and yet I was the only case that didn’t die from it. No one knew that of course, I told no one. If the government knew they’d fuss over me and do all kinds of tests and experiments on me. The media would go wild. I don’t want fame, at least not like that. I’d rather keep on my hoodies and sweaters and jeans all year than be wrapped up in some scandal like that. My pale skin wasn’t so bad; it contrasted well against my hair. And my purplish/brown/whatever eyes.