They were everywhere… All over his possessions… All over his clothes… All over him.
It had all happened so quickly. It was only last week that he had learned the truth. The horrible truth. The truth that would cost him his very life and sanity. The truth about them.
---ONE WEEK EARLIER---
Steve Jenkins. The name was synonymous with money, popularity, and power. Steve was the top dog in those parts and nobody dared challenge him. Nobody, that is, until Alison Reynolds confronted him that cold winter day.
Alison had been casually sitting at her desk, daydreaming like always in an attempt to escape the drudgery and monotony that she had endured every day for the past four years. She was suddenly awoken from her partial slumber when Steve came around the corner with that look on his face that said he was in one of those moods.
“Good morning Alison,” said Steve, a smirk crawling across his face. “Aren’t we looking pretty today?”
Unaccustomed to compliments, or conversation of any kind, from Steve, Alison looked up startled. “Oh, good morning to…”
“Pretty ugly, I mean,” said Steve, interrupting Alison halfway through her sentence. “With all that clown makeup on your face, I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow this highlighter, right?”
Alison wasn’t used to people grabbing things unceremoniously from her desk and looked Steve right in the eyes. “Hey, give that back!” Alison stood up to try and take back her stolen highlighter, but forgot that Steve stood a whole head taller than her.
“What highlighter?” asked Steve while moving towards his own desk. Knowing it was no use, Alison gave up the fight and only hoped Steve would return the pen later. “That’s what I thought, shorty,” Steve snickered, pushing Alison to the ground with the hand that wasn’t holding the highlighter.
“You’ll be sorry, Steven Jenkins,” whispered Alison as Steve walked away, laughing extra loud. “You’ll be sorry.”
---PRESENT---
Steve was sorry, but too late. After the argument, Steve was warned by his buddies that Alison had a rare disease that was transferred only through physical contact.
“Why else would she sit by herself during lunch break?” they asked Steve. “It’s not like she chooses to be a loner.” They had even offered him the antidote, a shot that would stop the symptoms, but Steve laughed them off.
Over the next week, Steve noticed that former friends began to avoid him in the hallways and he wasn’t invited to the usual parties. Steve was beginning to get afraid, so he decided more time alone would help. "It’s not anything serious," he thought to himself.
But it became serious. Soon, Steve was cowering in his room on weekends, weekends he was supposed to be out with friends, friends who didn’t call any more. Steve knew they were right, but it was too late.
They were everywhere… All over his possessions… All over his clothes… All over him.
Name: Steve Jenkins
Age: 10
Diagnosis: Cooties