vim

My poor little house, ghasping for air under that enormous, plastic, CDC tent, men in white suits and masks running in and out of her. Hoses, and ducts spilling out of her windows like organs. Several choppers circled overhead, their pilots, watching the chaos from above. They told me that the cats began dying on Sunday morning, shortly after I first began to notice my symptoms. The birds followed shortly thereafter, leaving behind a morose, unnatural soundscape. I couldn't stop shaking. The icy shower in the decontamination chamber had chilled me to the bones. I was tired, empty, and broken. The Federal Haz-Mat team had brought in marines to distribute gas masks to my few surviving neighbors, and to evacuate the surrounding communities. The stench was still thick in the air. Pungent, suffocating, deadly. I saw a CDC officer vomit in his suit, collapse, and begin to convulse violently before he was quickly hauled off by his peers. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. This never would have happened had I just read the bottle. All those poor people, all those animals, they'd still be alive. And this air, they say the fallout could last decades, that the air won't support life of any kind, and this is all because of me. This is all my fault. That is totally, the last time I EVER, use Trader Joe's SUPER COLON CLEANER!!!....EVER!!!!