The Traveller

I was alone. Isolated. Happy. No-one bothered with me. They left me alone where I was. But then they came for us, picked us up and took us away with them. I didn’t want to leave my home, I wasn’t ready. But still, they came. We travelled for miles, over the sea, flying and flying until we saw land. I clung on for dear life, fearing that soon someone would discover me. Because I was there, but they didn’t see. That was the way it had to be. Then I met the others. They gave me a warm home to creep into without being disturbed. It was a party of few; all men in hiding, trying to conceal their secret. I liked them. They passed me on between them, always keeping me safe, keeping me alive. But then someone found out and reported me to the authorities. I thought they’d send me back, thought they’d try and get rid of me, but it was much worse. They treated me differently, said they had to isolate me from the others. I was scared. I wanted to go home. Why wouldn’t they let me be? They sent me in for testing, to a strange place where the light was always shining. They cut me up, dissected me like an insect. This was the first case they’d ever seen. But there was more of me; I existed somewhere. They poked and prodded me, said it was going to get worse – more of us would soon be flooding in. But I was the answer because now they knew they could cure us. I was their answer. Some infection, they said. It’s all in the blood.