I haven't had water in days. I can't even look at it anymore. The mere sight of a standing pool of water repulses me. Have you ever been thirsty before? Have you ever wanted a drink do badly, you'd kill for it? Have you ever heard of the story of Tantalus? That wicked Greek bastard who was punished with thirst for an eternity, only to have the water recede from his lips every time he tried to take a sip? My punishment is less poetic, and more pointless. I was living in the woods. And I was nipped by a bat. And I didn't think much of it at the time. It as just a scratch. For the first few months. But instead of turning into some sexy teenage paranormal romance novel protagonist, I developed hyrdophobia. I was always so thirty. I always wanted the water. I would drool and and spit and knash everytime I saw is, but it frightened me, and every single time attempted to swallow, my larynx would spasm and seize. Not matter how much wanted to take a tiny sip, my instincts would not allow it. I had done nothing to deserve this poetic piece of nonsensical punishment, but here I am, salivating and angry. I'm fucking stumbling. And the drool is slobbing down my lips no matter how I try to wipe it off, but I can't, because I keep on shaking more and more and I keep on getting angrier and angrier because this is unfair and I am in a Hell I don't deserve to be in. But here I am. And I see the boy and his dog. I can't stop shaking and drooling. Fucking little piece of shit. So fucking innocent and happy with his little mutt. Fuck those guys. The rabies tells me to kill the child. I shamble towards that awful fucking kid, ready to spread my disease to him. Ready to teach him all about how life is about being hurt and making other people be hurt just so you can spread the pain and complete the cycle. My drool is everywhere, and I'm shaking and erratic and about to kill him as soon as I get the chance. But his dog is in the way. It growls at me, but I don't give a shit. The boy needs to be hurt. The virus tells me I need to continue the cycle of pain for as long as I can. The Beautiful black mutt bares it's teeth at me, ready to defend it's boy. I've never seen such a pure act of loyalty in my life, that dog, ready to die, for a boy. But my corruption doesn't care. My corruption will hurt, because that is the nature of corruption. Slobbering and shaking and stammering, I fall forward onto the dog, and bite it as hard as I can right on it's muzzle. It was soft. It was soft and felt like velvet. But it was hard. It was hard like a gnashing of teeth that didn't want me to kill that little boy no matter how much I wanted to kill him and spread the misery that is the virus that tells me to spread itself. No matter how much I wrestled and bit and chomped and spat at that filthy fucking dog, he would not let me hurt his boy. I would die, and the boy's Dog would die... But the Dog. The Dog died. The Dog died so the Boy would live. And the Dog would do it again.