I'm glad

The boy's heart pounded as he stumbled through his home, his hands trembling with a strange, sickly energy. The house, once a place of comfort, now felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in. His footsteps echoed unnaturally loud as he moved down the narrow hallway, each step taking him closer to the kitchen where the faint sound of his family's voices beckoned him.

Something was wrong.

His breathing was shallow, eyes darting around as a deep sense of dread settled in his gut. The air felt heavy, thick with an unnatural tension that clung to his skin. He didn't understand why he felt this way. This was his home, the place he had once loved—so why did he feel like a stranger in his own memories?

He reached the doorway to the kitchen, and there they were—his mother, father, and brother, sitting around the table, just like they used to. The scene should have been comforting, but it wasn't. His mother's smile was too wide, too strained, as if she was hiding something. His father's hands trembled as he gripped his cup, his knuckles white. His brother… his brother wouldn't meet his gaze, staring down at his plate in silence.

"Come sit with us," his mother said, her voice syrupy sweet, but it sent a chill down his spine.

He hesitated in the doorway, his skin prickling with a sensation he couldn't shake. Something twisted beneath his flesh, a deep, unsettling pulse that made his muscles tighten.

"I…" His voice cracked, weak. "I don't feel right."

His father glanced up from his cup, eyes narrowed with something the boy couldn't quite place. Was it fear?

"You're fine," his father said, his voice calm, but the tension in the room was suffocating.

But he wasn't fine.

His hands—why were they shaking so badly? He looked down and froze, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers were no longer fingers. Dark tendrils had started to weave around his hands, warping them into grotesque claws, the biomass swirling and bubbling beneath his skin. Panic surged through him, and he stumbled backward, crashing into the doorframe.

"What's happening to me?" he gasped, eyes wide in terror.

His family remained seated, their faces unreadable.

His mother's smile didn't falter. "You're not sick," she said. "You're just… changing."

The words sent a wave of nausea rolling through him. He looked at his father, then his brother, hoping for any sign of comfort, of understanding, but their faces were blank, emotionless. The tendrils spread faster now, crawling up his arms, twisting around his chest, pulling at his skin as the virus consumed him.

"No!" he cried, clawing at his own flesh, trying to stop it. "I don't want this, please make it stop!"

His mother rose slowly from her chair, her smile finally fading. "But you've always had it," she whispered, stepping toward him. Her voice took on a darker tone, colder. "It's always been inside you, hasn't it?"

The boy backed away, his heart hammering in his chest. The room seemed to stretch, the walls warping and contorting as the virus writhed within him, responding to his panic. He felt it overtaking him, pulling him under, his humanity slipping away as the tendrils coiled tighter, sharper. He could hear his pulse thudding in his ears, louder and louder, drowning out all other sounds.

Suddenly, his brother spoke, his voice soft but laced with fear. "You'll kill us, won't you?"

The boy's blood ran cold. His brother's eyes locked with his, wide and full of terror. "Why would you think…" the boy whispered, shaking his head violently. "I would never—"

But his brother stepped back, fear overtaking his face. "You can't control it. You'll hurt us… like you hurt her."

His mother lunged toward him, her face now twisted into something monstrous, no longer human. "Don't fight it! You know what you are, what you will become!" she shrieked, her voice echoing unnaturally.

The virus surged in response to his panic. His body transformed, black claws extending from his hands as the tendrils lashed out, tearing through the kitchen. His mother's shrill scream pierced the air as the tendrils wrapped around her, pulling her apart, the walls splattered with blood.

"No, arghhh!" the boy screamed, his voice hoarse, but it was too late.

His father stood frozen, staring in horror as the boy's body continued to warp and twist, the virus overtaking him completely. He reached out, but the biomass lashed out again, shredding through his father like paper. His brother tried to run, but the boy's own hands, now monstrous and dripping with blood, grabbed him by the throat, the boy unable to stop himself.

"No… please, I don't want to… I don't want to kill them!" The boy cried out, his voice breaking as he squeezed, the power overtaking him, his brother's neck snapping with a sickening crack.

Everything went silent.

The boy stood in the wreckage of the kitchen, blood dripping from his hands, his family lying dead at his feet. The virus pulsed beneath his skin, its presence suffocating. He had lost control. He had killed them all.

He dropped to his knees, trembling, staring at his blood-soaked hands.

"What… what have I done?" he whispered, he wept, his voice hollow.

Suddenly, he was falling—falling deeper into darkness.

And then he woke up.

---

The boy shot upright, his heart pounding in his chest, his body slick with cold sweat. His breaths were ragged, each inhale sharp and painful as the remnants of the nightmare clung to his mind. He looked around wildly, disoriented, his hands clutching the ground beneath him. Dirt. Leaves. The forest.

He was still in the forest. Not in his home. Not… not with them.

"It was a dream," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky. "Just… just a nightmare".

"Haha, hahaha it was all a dream, a dream" he laughed as he cried.

He cried not just because of sadness but because he was happy, happy that it was just a bad dream.

"I'm... I'm glad for once, that it was a dream, glad that I was not in my home."

Glad that he didn't kill them.

But it felt so real. Too real.

His hands shook as he held them up to his face, half-expecting to see them warped into claws again, half-expecting to feel the sticky warmth of blood on his skin. But they were normal—just his hands. No tendrils, no claws, no virus.

He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his racing heart. The nightmare lingered, the vivid memory of his family's screams echoing in his mind. He had seen their faces again—his mother, his father, his brother. But they were gone. They had been gone for a long time.

"I wouldn't hurt them," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "I wouldn't…"

But the fear gnawed at him. What if the virus took over? What if he lost control again, like he had with Rose? What if there was no stopping it?

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. Now wasn't the time. He needed to stay focused. Stay sharp.

The boy stood up slowly, his legs weak from the panic still coursing through him. He couldn't stay here, not like this. He needed to keep moving, to keep his mind occupied. Maybe if he ventured deeper into the forest, he could find some way to get control over this power.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. The forest stretched out before him, dark and endless. But it was better than staying still. Better than letting the virus take over again.

With a final glance back at the spot where he had been sleeping, the boy turned and ventured deeper into the forest, his footsteps quiet against the earth as he disappeared into the trees.