The young woman lay on a circular metal grey bed. Her eyes were the first to draw Citkpra’s attention–there was this incomprehensibly intense battle within the sockets; although shut, they were like ping pong balls in a whirlpool, behind a soft creamy skin curtain, ever failing to reach one another. He moved around the small piece. ‘Fascinating,’ he thought. She was a paradox. Both dead and alive, for hers was a long, deep sleep. The only thing that could save her when the HDW virus epidemy contaminated her race. Her slumber was never interrupted by words or any other contact. Except, they would allow music for a few hours on holidays. Like the sea, her sleep had an ebb and flow, now peaceful, a living statue, now restive, probably in a deep state of dreaming. For the first time in all these years, someone paid attention to this forgotten case. It was all his idea, his approved experiment. This life was his now, in his hands. He was drawn by her creamy complexion, by her peaceful demeanour.
*
The surveillance screen showed something spectacular, unexpected. A man was kissing the lips of patient RX38250NZ1754-HWD. One in a collection of deadly old viruses. Patient’s name: Blanca Schmetterlink. The alarm went off in loud yelps. He had done something irretrievable: he had given her a shot of the antidote. Within two minutes the place was crowded with the white officers from MedPolice. Too late. Two minutes too late.
*
He held Blanca in his arms. She needed special care. He kissed her once again to wake her up. She was his antidote to solitude. Peaceful beauty. She opened her eyes and a faint smile appeared on her face. In his hideaway they will never be found. There was plenty of food and information to feed and live on, her music and the two of them. A new beginning: birds chirping, butterflies flying over the green meadow.