The Warning

"I am a creature of great beauty and grace. . . . I spread my wings wide and fly away," Zymedocin snorted.
He proudly arched his sleek, silver neck. The sun glittered from the metallic brilliance, casting an effervescent lavender sheen from his long flowing mane. His wings, spread in

"Christ! What drivel! I can't believe I wrote this crap," Karyn muttered. "Here I'm supposed to be seriously working on that 'First Aid For Dogs' piece, and I write this garbage. God, where is my mind!?"
She ripped the paper from her typewriter, crumpling it, and threw it in the general direction of her wastebasket.
"Zymedocin . . . 'effervescent lavender sheen'. Now where did I come up with that?" she wondered. "I must be working too damn hard."
Karyn stood up, rolling her neck slowly as she stretched her 5'3" frame to its highest. Glancing down at her typewriter, she wrinkled her petite nose and snorted inelegantly. She left her office, her dark brown ponytail bouncing and swinging with each step.
"I'll grab a cup of coffee, then get back to work. Gotta meet my deadline," she muttered, walking into the kitchen. "Free lance articles . . . god, there has to be a better way to make a living."
She pulled her favorite mug from the cupboard, barely glancing at the phrase on it, 'Since I used up all my sick time, I'll have to call in dead!'. Karyn loved that mug, the phrase normally brought on a giggle or two. She poured her cup of coffee, forgetting to add cream.
I wonder what his wings look like, she thought, as she brought the mug to her lips.
"Damn! That's hot!" She gingerly patted at her lip, then turned and strode back into her office.
"And who cares what some stupid wings look like! I gotta get to work," she said.
Karyn banged her mug onto her desk, hot coffee sloshing over the rim. Several of the small puddles splattered around her work area united in the old desks scratched surface, quickly formed a large pool. The spilled coffee dripped slowly and steadily to the floor.
Karyn dropped into her chair, not noticing the small puddle of cold coffee at her feet as she immediately began hammering at the typewriter keys, immersing herself in the mundane article she had previously received, and spent, her royalties for.
"Symptoms of heatstroke are," she said, "lying prone, ..."

breathing with glistening transparency, slowly shifting to and fro, thrilling in their preparation for flight. His muscles flexing, expanding.
"I am Zymedocin, all powerful . . ." he said, feeling the power surging through him. Power, and

"Oh my God, not again!" she exclaimed. "Man, all that work, wasted! I can't believe this."
Karyn stared at the paper on which she had been working, her eyes opened wide in disbelief while she read what she had written.
"So," she said, her eyes narrowing in disgusted resignation, "you've decided to try your hand at fiction, eh? Well, that ain't what pays the bills!"
She tore the paper from her typewriter, and began shredding it into tiny pieces. Grabbing a clean sheet of paper, she stuffed it into her typewriter.
"I'll finish this stupid article, if it's the last thing I do," she muttered, pounding on the keys, beginning where she had left off.

life! The life force was flowing stronger now. He could feel his life-form expanding, taking over. Soon his strength would be at full force. He stretched his arms, reaching . . . reaching

"No! No! What's happening to me?" she cried. Karyn jumped up, knocking her chair over. She began shaking from the force she had been feeling.
"Who are you? What do you want?" she sobbed, tears flowing freely down her face. "Why won't you leave me alone?"
Turning, Karyn ran from her office. She raced through the house, stopping when she slowly sensed the space, the relative safety, of her backyard. She sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her sobs slowly dwindled and died, as she gradually became aware of her surroundings.
A robin flying overhead brought a wavering smile to her face, the sun warmed her cool skin. The distant sound of neighborhood children playing gave her a sense of normalcy. Karyn drew a deep breath.
"What," she quietly questioned, "came over me? I must've been working too hard. Probably too much coffee, and not enough food. Yeah, that's it. I'm probably just hungry."
Karyn sighed deeply then muttered, "Well, I'll just relax here a minute, then go make myself a bite to eat."
Closing her eyes, resting her head on her knees, Karyn drew in a deep, calming breath.

"Wha? Huh?" Karyn awoke with a start. She looked up towards the now setting sun.
"Geez," she said, "I must have been tired! Yeah, more'n likely I just needed some sleep. Guess I better get back to 'First Aid.' I've had enough of a break."
She stretched and rose, her nose wrinkling over the sudden jolt she felt from her stiff legs. Karyn walked back into the house, stiff legged.
Irritated by the tingling sensation she felt in her now awakening legs, Karyn stomped her feet while she paused in the kitchen. She cautiously walked over to the cupboard, hoping the tingling sensation would diminish with each ginger step she took.
"I suppose," she said, "I should get a bite now, since I'm here." Rummaging through her cupboards, she quickly located a can of clam chowder on the second shelf. She grabbed the can of soup, then set it down on the counter unopened. She realized she wasn't all that hungry.
I guess, she thought, I'm just looking for an excuse not to head back to my typewriter . . . and that's really lame. She grinned, beginning to feel foolish for her earlier outburst.
"What a ninny I am," she said, "Now, get back to work, Karyn-girl." She left the kitchen, sheepishly shaking her head. Entering her office, Karyn was firmly resolved to finish the article.
"Let's see, where was I? Oh yeah, heatstroke symptoms . . . hmm, now what. . . ? I . . . thought . . . I," she muttered, wiping at the smudge on her paper, "put a clean . . . what is that?" She wiped harder, feeling the smudge move.
"Almost feels like an eraser . . . c'mon! Oh, the hell with it!" She sharply jabbed at the keys. "What is that! Oh, no!" she screamed, "God, no!" Karyn watched in horror, as a hand poured out of the paper, reaching towards

"You. You are the Giver of Life. You are to be . . ." he paused.

"No!" she shrilly screamed, "Get away from me! Don't touch me!" I must be mad, she thought, this can't be happening.

A silvery form, his head, surfaced on the paper. His eyes glowed, the lavender starkly vivid against the deep aqua rim's, his mouth a glaring yellow. He spilled from the paper, solidifying before her, reaching for her, speaking to her.
"My soul mate," he continued, "You . . . the Giver of Life, and I, Zymedocin, will become as one. And so it shall be."
His arms opened wide, ready to enfold her, to drag her close to him.

"No!" she screamed.

"What happens next, Daddy?" his daughter asked. "Will she marry him?"
"Don't be stupid!" her brother exclaimed, "He'll eat her, won't he, Father! The Hero always gets his way!"
"Now, now, children," the Father said, "don't quarrel." He smiled down at the silvery, misshapen children, his lavender eyes gleaming. "What happens next, really depends on what your mother types . . ."

I am mad, she thought, so this is what insanity is like.
Karyn heard -- no, felt -- her screams. The vibrations slowly faded as she gradually became aware of her surroundings. Glancing at her typewriter where it lay on the floor, she saw the casing was cracked. It must have fallen off her desk when she had jumped away from that . . . thing. Hysterical giggles burst from deep within her.
"Damn, I need a drink," she chuckled. Slowly turning, she looked around her office.
"No bogey man or bogey children lurking around here," she whispered shakily, "Well, maybe I just need a break. Yeah, that's it, I've been working too hard . . . living on coffee . . . no sleep . . . no food, or, lousy food. I'll just phone my editor, tell him I need an extension on my deadline."
Karyn shuffled slowly towards the bar in her living room, and poured herself a liberal shot of cherry vodka. "Man, oh man," she sighed, "What a nightmare!" She quickly swallowed the sweet drink, then refilled her glass. New drink in hand, Karyn walked over to her favorite spot, and slumped down onto the window seat. She didn't bother to look out the window, as she sat huddled. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she slowly began rocking, back and forth.
"Bogey man's gonna get ya, bogey man's gonna get ya," she sing songed, "Wrap his arms, oh-so-tight . . . suck your life, with all his might . . . cause bogey man's gonna get ya." Her eyes slowly shut, as the childish chant lulled her to sleep.
"Doctor," the nurse said, "the subject is in REM sleep, now. Do we continue with the injections? Or do we have enough data?" The nurse turned away from the two-way mirror. She looked at her boss, barely able to hide the revulsion she felt.
What we're doing to her is so wrong, she thought, as the doctor looked up from the paper he was reading.
"Nurse Jones," he said dryly, "as my assistant in this research, you should be well aware that there is no such thing as 'enough data'! Of course we will continue with the injections." Dismissing both the nurse and subject from his mind, he turned back to his papers.
The nurse turned sharply away from the mirror and strode over to the locked refrigerator. She grabbed a syringe from the counter as she jerked her keys from her pocket. Pulling a vial from the refrigerator, she filled the syringe. The experimental drug, zymedocin, was a drug designed to mentally destroy the enemy -- any enemy -- by eating away their needed supply of Vitamin B. It sat next to another vial, the antidote -- niacin.
Karyn could feel someone looking at her. She felt queasy. Looking around her living room, she felt a momentary panic. She was suddenly unable to remember why she was there, or what she was suppose to be doing. Slowly, she stood up and turned to her office.
This is so confusing, she thought, I know I'm suppose to be working on something right now.  Her disorientation continued as she viewed the damage she had done earlier to her office.
"Well," she nervously chuckled, "this is a fine mess we got ourselves into, Ollie." Karyn sat down at her typewriter. Her fingers trembled, poised over the keyboard. Then, they swiftly flew across the keys. Fragments of sentences appeared, words she knew had nothing to do with dog first aide. Words like Zymedocin . . . effervescent lavender sheen . . . Giver of Life . . . glistening transparency.

"Soul mate," he said, "you are afraid."
"Why have you come," she asked, "will you hurt me?" She typed faster, allowing her subconscious to guide her.
"No, Giver of Life," he replied, "I mean you no harm. I mean to protect you." He poured forth from the paper, once again becoming a solid life-form before her.
Karyn stared at the magnificent, silver creature before her, awed by the power she felt emanating from him. She slowly stood up.
"Protect me from what?" she asked. "Who sent you?"
Zymedocin paced around the room, stopping when he was once again in front of her typewriter.
"You are the Giver of Life," he said, "you are the one I must answer to. I was sent to protect you from . . ." He paused in his explanation and flinched. "It is too late," he stated, "She has come."

"Who?" Karyn screamed, "Who is 'She'?"
The nurse turned away, unwilling to watch any longer. Her job was done. She had given the injection, as ordered.
Nurse Jones left the room Karyn thought of as her living room, heading back to the other side of the two-way mirror. She glanced at the camera before recording the subject's descent into madness, the experiment continuing. Progress, Nurse Jones thought, is sometimes a painful process. But at least I don't have to watch this anymore. She put her coat on, and turned to the doctor.
"I've given the subject her final dose, doctor. The camera is on. I'll see you tomorrow." The nurse left the building, her thoughts turning to what she would prepare for her supper.