As I closed my eyes, pushing through all the rest of my jumbled, frantic thoughts was this:

I should have said something earlier.

One small chocolate, the size of a child’s thumb-- you wouldn’t think that a potential killer laid in wait for the perfect moment to strike inside this miniscule little chunk.

I plopped the assassin into my mouth unknowingly, and bit into the popping, chewy sensation of gooey delight. How could I possibly know of the lurking danger of a Costco sample? I took my little sister’s hand and we walked on down the aisle of glutenous snacks that looked so tantalizing, but I knew the consequences. Besides, I was content enough with my sweet treat. That feeling wouldn’t last long.

As we strolled through the hallway, I could taste the remnants of my pleasure disappearing into something else. It carved an itchy path down the rungs of my esophagus, blocking off the way for air. The delicious glory scrambled along my throat, choking up coughs and taking control of my flailing limbs. My engine had been hijacked by the assassin who was sending flames up into my head and out of my ears like a horned dragon’s steam. My fingers, clawed and stiff, grasped at the bonfire ignited in the throat.

“Oh, no, Ally!” Chloe bursts back to my side, “there were cashews and walnuts! How much did you eat?”

I didn’t understand how an insignificant morsel could cause so much damage to my body. My parents weren’t worried, so I didn’t see any reason for me to worry. I knew of my nut allergy but nothing of this scale had occurred before. Not just one, but two killers were in my body, and they wouldn’t be kicked out easily. On either side of me, flanking me like bodyguards, were my parents and my sister who led me to the checkout lines. I wished it were possible to chuck the invaders out of my body, but it didn’t seem possible as I struggled to breathe in the broad, sneering daylight of the outside air. Every ray of sunshine pounded into my head, encouraging the assailants to pursue their inner desires. Still, I denied the fact that this could very well get much worse and end up with me in the hospital. I kept it down. If I had known the consequences, I wouldn’t have waited as long as I did.

For three stretching hours, I endured the two accomplices’ work as they made their way down my digestive tract, choosing to whale upon the lining of my stomach. I did not complain when dragged into a store of containers but nothing to contain my extreme unease and agony as I grappled with the two poisons within me. Step after step, I could only feel my attackers increasing their vigor, leaving me curled up in a ball by the time we reached Whole Foods to buy dinner. I refused to let them win me over, to slave me into their grasp, and I wouldn’t let myself complain even as they started sending waves of itch up my body, taking the same path and branching off into my arms and legs and eyes. I couldn’t bear to look at what was eating up my entire body.

What my fingers found, seeing what my eyes couldn’t, or wouldn’t, were lumps. Everywhere I could feel, the carnage that the invaders had caused bubbled up on my skin that was the battlefield. They rotted along every stretch of skin, compelling me to wield the sharp and long weapons on my fingertips. I couldn’t handle the pain of resisting the calling, and up and down my hands went on my arms, my legs, my back, my shoulders, my face. But scratching would not calm the histamines inside and outside. My face flushed up as I let out a wail, the first cry that would tell the invaders that they were beginning to win this war.

My father barely made it back to the car with our groceries before we were off, spinning down the street to find the emergency room. I wasn’t processing anything that was occurring around me. All I knew were the itchy hives swollen up all over, and there was no way to protect my eyes from viewing the repugnant theater of operations. What felt like thousands of bees knew no limit as to where they would spread. My fingers were taking on the appearance of dull knives that wouldn’t tear down the structures built by the two intruders. Tears streamed down my face, landing in the rivulets of my wrinkled up pain. They twisted around boulders all over my neck, falling into my vigorous hand movements.

By the time I was rushed through the doors of the ER, I had already swirled into madness. Crying was never something I had been fond of, and even in the saddest parts of a movie I would barely let one loner shed down my cheeks. I couldn’t breathe. The disgust, repulsion of seeing my body in tatters, barricaded any air from filling my lungs. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from screaming.

The cold cleanliness of the room I was introduced to stood in stark contrast to my red cheeks and puffy mess. The bed greeted me like a mother who had been missing her child, for I had not found a comfortable position since I woke up that fateful morning.

I couldn’t stop myself from falling into oblivion as the pinkish, sluggish liquid of Benadryl and some other unknown substances were shot up the IV tube in my arm. The colonies on the visible half of my body began fading into the darkened background of the tiny room that had just saved my life. I didn’t resist, and peaceful sleep embraced me.