• Dystopius (n.) – a disease in which the peripheral and autonomic nervous systems (nerves and brain) are ravaged by B-cells until the body and mind are rendered useless. The first symptom of dystopius is the production of a rosy odor from the body. The first case was diagnosed in D. Lynn in 2095; ongoing research is being performed at Rochester Medical Center in NY, USA.

    December 13th, 2097

    Dystopius is my life. My mother, Diana – the sweet guardian who cared for me, Dmitri Lynn, and my younger sister Elizabeth – contracted it in 2095. The doctors were confounded by what was happening to her. They said that because they didn’t know how to cure dystopius, my mother would probably have only four years to live. I remember watching in horror two months ago as the paramedics wheeled her, who had been playing the piano in our cozy living room just moments before, into the ambulance. I remember sitting by her bedside, listening in despair as the doctors explained that the scent of roses was a symptom of the disease. And I remember sitting on the cold white tiles of the hospital and hugging Elizabeth as tears streamed down our cheeks, vowing to find the cure to this horrendous disease, only to smell the faint scent of roses from her as well.

    “Dmitri! What are you doing?” two arms suddenly wrapped around my neck. The scent of roses filled my nostrils. I quickly shut my diary, and shoved it and my black pen into the topmost drawer of my desk.

    “Janet! How many times have I told you to not disturb me while I’m at work?” I sighed and pulled Janet’s arms away from me and got out of my chair.

    “Oh, but Dmitri it’s already ten o’clock! Didn’t you promise that we’d go home together after you finish your rounds? What have you been doing all this time? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a doctor that writes as much as you do.” Janet ran one hand through her long blonde hair and fingered the buttons her shirt. I shook my head with dismay.

    “Cut that out, it disgusts me.” I sniffed the air. “Your perfume…”

    “It’s L’eau de Feminin. Do you like it?” Janet smiled. I frowned.

    “You know I hate roses. Anyways, I don’t think I drive you home tonight. I want to study Patient 1 and 2’s conditions more closely.” I pushed Janet out the door, but before I was able to close it, Janet turned back to me once more.

    “Don’t you think it’s time to give up on Patient 1 and 2? It’s been four years, Dmitri! Forget about – “

    I swiftly slammed the door in her face and sank to the floor. I couldn’t give up. Not yet. I was so close… so close to the cure… all my hours experimenting in the laboratory, talking with other doctors, performing medical trials… they all came down to the cure. I stood up and lumbered at my desk. Beside the small green lamp was an ice chest with 2 10-milliliter vials of clear solution. Modified HIV viruses. Because they changed the genetic composition B-cells, HIV viruses could be altered to fix the programming in B-cells that caused them to attack the nervous system. Four years of research, and I had developed this experimental treatment. I gingerly opened the ice chest and extracted the vial. Tonight would be the night I would put the fruits of my labor to the test.

    I walked down the dark halls of Rochester Medical Center’s Intensive Care Ward – first with a slow step, then with a rapidly quickening pace. I was almost at a run by the time I entered Patient 1 and 2’s hospital room. As soon as I opened the door, the scent of roses filled my nostrils once more. I hit the lightswitch and made a beeline for the table separating Patient 1 and 2. My mother and my sister. I paused to observe their faces; so peaceful they were. But I could not tarry any longer. I quickly opened the drawer and pulled out two syringes. 10 ccs for each of them. The effects had been immediate on the mice I experimented on last month, so who was to say that the solution wouldn’t work on my dear Diana and Elizabeth?

    Very carefully, I wiped my mother’s neck with an antiseptic, and injected the first syringe, then did the same to my sister. Test after test, the mice had experienced improvements in the disposition within thirty seconds. I looked at my watch with apprehension. The following thirty seconds would be the most nerve-wracking of my life. I looked at my mother and sister once more, and stroked their hair. Only a few more seconds, and I could be with them again. I kissed my mother’s forehead. Did the corner of her lip just turn right now? Was that a sign that the solution was working? I looked at my watch. Thirty-one seconds had passed. Had I done it? I turned to my sister. She seemed to be smiling at me as well. Had I done it?

    “Dmitri.” My mother’s voice called out to me. I looked back at my mother. Her eyes were open, and her lips were upturned in her sweet smile. “Dmitri, my son, where am I?”

    “Mother!” I hugged her tightly. The various cords and machinery felt cold against my chest, but my mother – she felt so warm. “Mother, you’re healthy again!”

    “Dmitri, you’re squeezing me too tightly!” My mother laughed. I could have cried. The peripheral nervous system was already regaining control of itself, and it seemed that the autonomic was working as well. I let go of my mother and smiled warmly.

    “Mother, I lo-“At that moment, my mother’s eyes began to roll to the back of her head. Her check convulsed. I looked at the ECG – her heart rate was getting out of control. I looked at my sister; she had not moved at all since I administered the solution, and her heart rate was sinking rapidly.

    I screamed and leapt to the bedside table, ransacking the drawers for nitroglycerin. If I could administer the proper dosing in time, perhaps the heart attack would subside. But saving Diana and Elizabeth was not to be. As soon as I found the vials of nitroglycerin, both of their hearts had stopped. I attempted defibrillation several times, but it was all in vain. Within three minutes, my mother and sister had departed.

    Before I knew it, I had found myself back in my office, lying on the floor. I had failed. Why hadn’t the treatment worked? What went wrong? I had done everything correctly… I had performed so many perfect trials before, but why, why didn’t the viruses work when I needed them to? I pounded my fists against the cold tile and moaned. Mother… Elizabeth… what hadI done…

    Tears rolled down the sides of my cheeks, and I hastily wiped them away. I didn’t deserve to cry, especially after what I had done to my only family. I was a monster, an absolute monster. A man was not a man if he could kills his loved ones in cold blood, and I had become so much less than human in the last three minutes. What had I done?

    As I gasped through tears, a strange scent began to overcome me. Roses. Was Janet back? This was hardly the time for me to see her. I stopped crying to listen to the hall, but they were silent. I sniffed my coat. Had I been with my mother and sister too long? No, if that were true, why did my hand smell more like roses than my clothes?

    I froze. So this was my punishment. To repent for my sins, I would be inflicted with the same disease that ravaged my family. I bitterly laughed through my tears. A fit retribution for a monster like me. I could already feel myself letting go…

    At least I could be with my dearest once more…

    ----------


    Two women walked down the hall of Rochester Medical Center’s Intensive Care Ward. They were dressed in identical white coats, but one was so much older than the other that the former could have been the mother of the latter. They both came to a stop at a door labeled “LYNN”, and the younger one opened it.

    “Good morning, Dr. Lynn and Dr. Lynn.” A young blonde woman solemnly greeted the two women as they entered the room.

    “How is the patient today, Janet?” The older woman asked.

    “It seems his condition has gotten worse overnight, Diana.” Janet shook her head. “I’m afraid he may pass soon.”

    The younger woman stepped forward to look at the patient in the hospital bed. “So peaceful,” she thought as she stroked his dark black hair.

    “Elizabeth, do you think Dmitri’s thinking about us?” Janet asked the young woman.

    “Of course,” said Elizabeth, as she continued to stroke the man’s black hair. “It’s dystopius he’s inflicted with.”

    Dystopius (n.) - a disease in which the peripheral and autonomic nervous systems (nerves and brain) are ravaged by B-cells until the body and mind are rendered useless. The first symptom of dystopius is the production of a rosy odor from the body. The first case was diagnosed in D. Lynn in 2095; ongoing research is being performed at Rochester Medical Center in NY, USA. Patients are known to experience hallucinations of a dystopia in which their most cherished are destroyed (i.e. money, profession, family), causing their physical health to deteriorate in response.