The Syndrome

Chapter 1 - Early onset.   

Alison sat in her seat, counting a few hundred dollar bills she had just grabbed from the drawer at her knees.  The average height black haired girl slips the bills through a small opening, smiling through the thick bulletproof glass of her teller window.  

“Four-hundred, thank you!”  She says sweetly as an old man grabs the cash and walks away.

Alison sighs as she watches him go, the afternoon sun streaming into the lobby of the bank, beyond the thick transparent wall she liked to call ‘her prison cell’.  She was pretty much fed up with her job as a bank teller, and at twenty-seven years old, felt she should be doing bigger and better things with her life.  It’s not like she had not put the effort in either, she had a master degree in english and education, but had little luck landing a job in New York City as a teacher.

“God, you’re welcome” The thin girl hisses sarcastically once she is sure the customer is out of earshot.

“Yeah that guy is kind of a dick” Alison’s blond haired coworker, Victoria says, not even looking up from her computer screen as she punches the day’s cheques into the computer, her long red fingernails clacking away at the keyboard.

 Alison turns her head to look at Victoria for a moment, studying the girl’s short, dirty blonde hair, her buttoned down shirt, black pants, and her black heels.  Alison could not help but note that her co-worker was quite the looker.  Two years her junior the girl had a new date every weekend, and Alison was quite jealous of her. It wasn’t that Alison did not try, or that she was ugly or anything like that, no, in fact Alison was quite beautiful, thin, with long shiny black hair and hazel eyes, but she had no idea how to talk to men, and had always been quite self conscious and introverted.  

“God vick, you aren’t done with those yet?” Alison whines as she places her elbows on the counter, holding her tired face up with her hands, her pink fingernails reflecting the soft yellow sunlight of the outside world.  

“Oh shut up bitch!” Victoria says with a small half smirk.  “You were supposed to do these today, y’know?”  She adds as she flips through cheque after cheque after cheque, entering the information onto a dated looking CRT screen.

“Well I counted everything” Alison fires back, rolling in her seat and standing up, raising her hands over her head and locking them together as she stretches and yawns.

Alison looks up at the round white clock which reads three-forty-seven, thirteen minutes left until the end of her shift.  She then turns her head and looks outside, tapping her black flat against the flat carpet of the bank floor.

“Go if you want...” Victoria offers, still not looking up from her work.  “I’ll finish up here” she adds

“Are you sure?? you know what happened last time” Alison reminds her co-worker, referring to the time Victoria had to stay and account for a five hundred dollar discrepancy.

“Yeah babe, I’ll be fine, you counted everything right?” Victoria raises her head from the monitor, as she asks the question, as if both girl’s lives were at stake.

“Yeah yeah, It’s fine.” Alison replies, waving her right hand at the counter. Alison then walks over to victoria, bending down and planting a kiss on the girl’s cheek.

“Thanks bitch!” Alison says happily as she stands up straight, walking over to her station and grabbing her small black bag.  

“We still on for tomorrow night?” Alison asks as she slips the small handbag over her shoulder.

“Oh that, yeah I can’t, sorry, I kind of met this guy...” Victoria trails off, her fingers still clacking over the keyboard.

“Oh...well, alright then, whore!” Alison says playfully, smiling as she walks towards the door.  

“Night” Alison says as she turns the handle, pulling the thick wooden door open with a high pitched creek.

“Night night” Victoria says sweetly as Alison walks through the door, letting it click shut on it’s own as she exits the bank.

Alison takes a deep breath as the crisp spring air fills her lungs, a cool breeze washing over her face and buffeting her hair as she walks across the busy parking lot, weaving in and out of parked cars as she heads towards the street.  She stops when she reaches the bus stop, a few other people waiting for the same bus as her as she zips open her purse and takes her phone out.  Before she can do anything with the device an intense migraine hits her, causing her to close her eyes and take a deep breath.  What is with these migraines!? she thinks to herself as the pain subsides, gone as quick as it had come.  The girl opens her eyes again and blinks a few times as the bus rumbles towards the bus stop.  

Alison walks towards the bus and climbs up three steps, walking halfway through the nearly empty vehicle and sitting down next to a window.  She leans back in the hard plastic seat and releases a sigh of contentment, glad to be out of her prison cell and on her way home. The engine of the large bus roars as the air breaks puff loudly before the driver turns the wheel and pulls out into traffic.  

Alison plugs her ear buds into her phone, and turns on some music as she glares through the window, idly watching the busy rush hour traffic whiz by as the bus lumbers along its route. Alison looks around the bus, her eyes settling on a small man.  The man was dressed casually in what looked like clothes that would fit a small child, his tiny sneakered feet dangling above the dirty floor of the public bus, his small head not even reaching the bottom of the large window.  He turns his head and Alison can see his face, a prominent five o’clock shadow clinging to his chin, like moss on an ocean’s rock. Poor thing probably can’t see over the sink to shave. Alison thinks to herself.  She had seen those afflicted with the syndrome around the city once in awhile, and her heart always went out to them, their lives were undoubtedly harder than hers, as they struggled to survive within an uncaring society.

The bus grinds to a halt at Alison’s stop and she stands up, giving the small man one last glance as she passes by.  The thin girl exits the bus and walks a block or so down a busy main street, turning off onto a side street and walking a few minutes until she reaches a small three story apartment building. The thought of the tiny man on the bus is already far from her mind as she fumbles to grab her keys from her small bag.  She inserts the key into the lock and twists it, opening the door and walking to the stairs.  

The elevator door opens and Alison steps in, hitting the button marked with a black three.  The doors slide closed and she can feel the elevator rise for a brief moment before a bell tolls, the doors slipping back open again, presenting Alison with the familiar sight of the hallway outside of her apartment.  Alison exits the elevator, keys still in hand and walks to the door marked ‘5’ where she slips a key into the knob and twists, swinging the thick metal door open and stepping inside.  

Alison sighs as she slips her flats off of her tired, slightly sweaty bare feet, wiggling her  damp toes against the smooth hardwood floor as she places her handbag besides her discarded footwear.  She walks into the small spartan living room and plops down on the couch, Lifting her legs up and plopping her feet onto the coffee table as she grabs a remote control. The young woman sighs, pressing a button which causes the small television across the room to come to life.  A primp looking woman with brunette hair sits in an anchor chair, the skyline of manhattan behind her as she speaks with a sense of urgency.  

“And in health news today, a startling announcement from top scientists regarding Subtraction syndrome, the mysterious condition that causes its victims to diminish in size, leaving millions dead or severely handicapped since the late 1940’s”  The woman pauses for a moment before continuing.

“We now go to our senior correspondent, Jim Henfray, who is live outside of the academy of sciences here in New York, Jim?” The reporter asks as there is a slight pause before the sound of Manhattan traffic fills Alison’s small apartment.

Alison adjusts herself uncomfortably on her seat, the subject seemed to be coming up quite a bit today, and the young woman pondered if the universe might be trying to tell her something.  She watches the screen attentively as the academy of sciences building appears on the screen, in front of it, a middle aged male reporter holding a small microphone, random people passing him by in the background.

“Thank you Diane” the Reporter says solemnly, before beginning his report.

“Moments ago, top researchers held a press conference here in this very building”  The reporter says as he shakes his downward turned palm towards the camera, before turning around and motioning towards the grand building behind him.  

“They claim to have discovered the gene responsible for the disease, and shockingly enough, claim every one of us possesses it.”  The reporter says. He pauses as the screen changes, showing a tall red haired woman, dressed in a blue blazer standing behind a podium. Dozens of reporters gathered around her as she speaks.

“Yes, we believe every person on the planet is susceptible to the syndrome... next question” The woman says coldly before pointing to someone else in the crowd, a muffled masculine voice shoots of a short inaudible question from somewhere off camera, the scientist thinks for a few moments before answering.

“At the moment there is nothing that can be done to reverse or slow the disease, though there are some treatments currently undergoing clinical trials...” the woman says in the same clinical tone.  “Next question” she adds as she points to someone else in the group.

“Do you have an estimate on when you think a cure might emerge?” a muffled female voice asks inquisitively from off screen.

“I can’t answer that question, as we simply do not know... We have made very little progress over the last couple of decades, and we seem no closer to curing this condition now than we were twenty years ago” The scientist says, barely finishing her answer before the screen cuts back to the anchor woman.  

“So, Jim, in effect what she was saying, isn’t this the same thing we’ve heard over and over again throughout the years, why come out with this announcement now? Especially when they are no closer to a cure than they were a few decades ago?”  The anchorwoman asks, the screen shifting back to the reporter in front of the academy.

“Well Diane, the way it was explained to me is that they want to keep everyone in the know regarding the latest research, in hopes of raising public awareness levels.  These people go through so much, a lot of them losing their jobs, their homes, and even their lives due to this devastating condition.” The reporter replies before the screen cuts back to the anchor woman once again.

“Devastating indeed” The anchor says softly.  

“Thank you Jim” She adds as busy news music fills Alison’s apartment, the daylight slowly fading away from the outside world as the sun sets, leaving the apartment dim, save for the glow of the television.

“When we return, how to tell if you are at risk, signs and symptoms, and when you should see a doctor, next.”  The anchorwomen finishes as the camera zooms out, showing the entirety of the set before the screen flashes to a car commercial.

Alison squirms uncomfortably against the cushion of the couch as she yawns, her mind flashing through all of the victims of Sub-syndrome she has come across throughout the years.  She quickly dismisses the depressing thoughts from her mind as her phone rings, she lifts it from the end table and looks at the caller’s name before looking it up.

“Hi mom” she says softly as she puts the phone to her ear, lifting her legs from the coffee table and tucking her feet underneath her body, indian style.  

“Yeah, I got the card, thanks, it was cute”  The girl giggles as she eyes the colorful birthday card that was standing on the end of the empty coffee table in front of her.

“You didn’t have to put that much money in there though, I’m fine really.”  Alison complains, her voice taking on a slight whining quality.

 It’s ok, it’s work...” She says, her tone returning to normal as she stands up, pacing into the kitchen and opening the fridge, staring into it idly as the anchor woman appears on the television once more.  Alison does her best to tune her droning out as she continues her conversation with her mother. But cannot help overhearing the onset symptoms of sub-syndrome.  The list goes on for quite some time, listing stomach problems, migraines, muscle and joint pain, along with a myriad of other symptoms.  It hit’s Alison at that point that she has been suffering intermittently with migraines for the past couple of days, she hesitates before responding to her mother.

“Yeah..yeah, I’m here ma.” She says as she glances back at the tv screen, a slight look of concern playing across the features of her youthful looking face.  She looks back into the fridge and grabs a package of ham, and a loaf of white bread, closing the fridge and placing the items on the counter before she starts to make herself a sandwich.

“Oh yeah??!” The girl squeals happily into the phone as she peels slices of ham from the white package, carefully placing them on a slice of white bread.  

“I bet she was happy about that, aww” she coo’s into the phone as she places another slice of bread atop the ham, and lifts the sandwich to her mouth.

“Alright mom I am about to eat, yeah, yeah,mm hmm, ok love ya, bye!” Alison says, hardly letting her mother get a word in edgewise. She peels the phone away from her ear, pressing the end call button and placing it down on the kitchen counter.  She plugs the device into her phone charger and takes her sandwich into the living room,  plopping down on the couch once more.

The rest of the night goes by like any other night in Alison’s small apartment, she sits in front of the television for a while, gets up, takes a shower, and gets changed into sweatpants and a pink t shirt.  Alison lays in bed, flipping through a thick hardcover book, losing track of time as she becomes absorbed in the story she is reading.  Finally she looks over at her alarm clock, the red LED numbers reading One-fifty-eight. She quickly folds the page and places the book on her nightstand.  She sits up and lazily scratches her side before standing up and lumbering into the bathroom.  

Alison checks her face out in the mirror for a minute or two, checking for any blemishes.  Satisfied that there are none she picks up her toothbrush and turns the water on, squeezing some paste on it’s surface before plunging it into her mouth and brushing her teeth.  About half way through the process Alison feels a sharp pain in her stomach, severe enough for her to drop the toothbrush into the sink as she doubles over.   She grabs the vanity with her hands and takes deep breaths, her head slowly starting to pound as the most severe migraine she has experienced in her life rips through her skull.   

“Oh..oh god!” she whimpers as she lifts herself up, placing her hands on her head, covering her eyes from the bright bathroom light that now blasts her with the intensity of a helicopter searchlight.  

As quickly as the dreadful pain in her head and stomach appeared, it vanished, leaving the young woman confused and frightened.

“What is going on with me!?” she says out loud, taking a few deep breathes as she grabs her now drenched toothbrush out of the sink, flicking off the excess water before rinsing it off and placing it back in it’s holster and rinsing her mouth out.

She lumbers back into the bedroom and sits on her bed, staring off into space for a few moments before clicking off her light.  The small bedroom becomes pitch black, the silence only being broken for a brief moment as alison crawls under her covers.  She closes her eyes and slowly drifts off to sleep, making a mental note to call for a doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning.