The EndByron Matthews The world twitched back into normality and Byron pulled himself to a sitting position. His trousers were soaked in cold tea and the shattered pieces of his mug were tossed across the floor. Shit, he thought, how long this time? "Computer," he said tentatively, "what's the time?" "Twenty-two hundred hours." Sighing heavily, he eased himself back onto the floor to stare up at the ceiling. "Twelve hours." He hit the floor with his fists so hard he felt something snap and he snarled. He'd been unconscious twice as long as the day before. His illness was accelerating. He was dying. It wouldn't be long now. Could happen tomorrow, could be several weeks, but one day he'd either not wake up at all or wake up as someone he didn't recognise. He could already feel the other man shifting inside him, moving to take over. He was cruel and vicious, he had an evil in him, a spitefulness that Byron himself never understood in other people. And there he was, turning into the ones he hated most of all. His will was all set out, each of his belongings tagged and assigned. He'd made sure of that long ago. Dragging himself to his feet, he grabbed the borg bear from its perch on his desk and hugged it to his chest. "God, Aileas..." he whispered, tears already starting in his eyes. "You managed, against all the odd, to hold two people inside you. How?" he begged to the empty room. "HOW?!" Burying his face in the soft fur of the bear, he cried out for it to be over. Almost in answer, he felt a stabbing pain in the side of his head. It tore through his thoughts, ripping consciousness from his body. For the briefest moment before he lost himself, he felt liquid pour from his ears, eyes and nose. Coughing, he collapsed to the ground. With his precious borg hugged tightly to his chest, he let out one last breath. No more time for regret, none for remorse and none for doubt. Everything he ever was and ever would be narrowed down to nothingness as life slipped away. |
