For J.A.H., a survivor.
“We would like to go into the true reasons that brought you here—” he began, but she interrupted.
“I am here as a symbol of something. I thought perhaps you would know what it was.”
“You are sick,” he said mechanically.
“Then what was it I had almost found?”
“A greater sickness.”
The desire for possession is insatiable, to such a point that it can survive even love itself. To love, therefore, is to sterilize the person one loves.
A virus is a bit of genetic
acid wrapped in protein.
It is neither alive nor dead.
It is small, smaller than bacteria,
many times smaller than any animal cell.
A virus has no energy of its own.
It cannot reproduce.
A virus without a living cell to plunder is helpless and inert.
It must steal life by slipping into a congenial cell
and tricking it into replicating viruses.
This is the act of infection.
A virus does not want to kill.
It does not even want to harm.
It wants to change.
It wants that part of it that is missing.
It wants to become.