Timothy, The Malignant

By Pallavi R Kumar

Timothy has never felt more estranged than the time when he joined the army. The so called second line of defense, the Institution of Innate Immunity. The institution reeked of famished souls flinging antigenic filth at fellow defense cells, all living unhappily in an overcrowded dungeon which continuosly emitted a splenical stench through its bloody, thick veined walls. Timothy was never the kind to be confined by such pulsatile walls. No. He liked to tiptoe out when no one was watching. This was a strange place, this country. One could feel harmony lurking in every corner, (something Timothy truly despised) , yet there seemed to be a careful hormonal, molecular cold shouldering delineating the soldiers. From a bird’s-eye view, the place was picturesque, but watch them all carefully, dissecting them one by one and you’ll be bored by the discipline enforced everywhere. Timothy was born in the dungeons too and brought up in another, like everyone else in his family. But he was the anomalous black sheep in his family. There was none like him. The thought of his family gave him phlebitic pain in the coronaries. The feeling of abandonment was agonizing. He furiously swam across the red stream, kicking a baby platelet out of his way in a moment of heat. The baby platelet scurried away in horror, squeaking with pain, to take cover inside the huge megakaryocytic school out of which it had earlier sneaked out. As he watched this with a diabolic smirk, timothy saw the Marrowy Tree Of Life out of the corner of his eyes. He never liked to look at it for long. It was too sickening a sight for him. Others worshipped the tree. It was the place from where the red river began its venture, touching every sorry tissue on its way, infusing oxygen as it rumbled violently into every orifice in the body of the autonomous, pulsating, muscular lub-dub giant only to be sharted out in seconds. It was the river of life. But most importantly, the Tree of Life employed the most beautiful women in the whole country. If only Timothy could get atleast one of them to sleep with him. His fury elevated to toxic levels. To make things worse, the baby platelet’s macho dad was watching him with rage, leaning against the endothelium, ready to pick a fight.

Something inside timothy’s nucleus snapped, doubled, trippled, uncoiled, split and cleaved, not in that order. He turned violet with rage. Timothy could feel himself expanding with neoplasia, as multiple mitotic figures accumulated in his dirty cytoplasm. He stomped across to the macho dad who was now helplessly peeing enzymes in horror. Timothy picked him up and crushed him between his unsympathetic tentacles and threw him into the red stream, which unemotionally carried the corpse in its oxygenated ripples to far off nooks. Timothy looked at the Marrow, power heightening inside him. With the same diabolic smirk, he walked in and before he knew it he split in two. In another second, there were four. As Timothy multiplied in geometric progression, the employees watched in horror from under the desk and behind the doors and beneath the chairs. Some managed to run out the fire exit just in time to be spared of the horror show that was about to follow. Timothy managed to rape a few and his army followed. He was in fact remediating the butterfly effect which unlocked the outrage and lead to this disaster. But there were lesions beyond repair. Timothy clones swarmed out in armies out of the Marrow and started infiltrating other institutions. Soon the whole country was Timothyland. There was no longer harmony in any corner of the place. There were perverts and killers everywhere. Dark days followed. Offices were shut down one by one. As he watched all this from his headquarters, Timothy still had the same diabolic smirk across his face, basking in the glory of his newfound malignancy.

By Pallavi R Kumar