The healer

1 min read

Dr Goy looked at the grey skies through the lab window. His cure would come too late, or perhaps never.

‘The board has found you unfit for the tenure. You did not publish or apply for any patents in the past three years.’

‘Because I am working on the ultimate cure.’ They had not understood his vision, those imbeciles!

Dr Goy was nothing if not tenacious. He had put in extra hours, pinned all his hopes on the last virus batch. All he needed was an incubator and a sustainable vector.


In 48 more hours, he would be evicted. Dr Goy wanted to weep. If only the time was on his side!

His treatment worked. BUT it was useless until he found ‘the perfect’ delivery method to transport his fragile-structured medicine. Its viability was just seven minutes outside the vector.

Make sure you leave behind all the documentation, your specimens and your research notes. The lab owns all rights to all the research and patents you hold currently or those which will be granted to you in the next three years.’

Should he beg for some extra time? He discarded the thought, as soon as creeped up. No one could be trusted with his research. There were moles here. There were those who were hungry for the credits and accolades. They had called him obsessed and paranoid. What would they say now? He was on a threshold of a win.

For a tiny moment, Dr Goy savoured a tiny sliver of Euphoria. A Nobel Prize. Then the panic took over.


His back ached from being hunched all the time. He checked on the mice he had injected. They had survived his incubation techniques. Hallelujah! In two measured moves, he found a vein around their abdomen and collected their blood. He had a few hours more.


Dr Goy surrendered to the rare moment of rage and smashed his hand down the glass petri dishes, he had so lovingly inoculated.

Useless, Useless, Useless!

He was disgusted at the trickle of blood oozing from the side of his palm. Before he reached for a tissue, an errant blood drop found its way into one of the virus cultures and streaked the viral colonies.


The pH strip slowly changed colour. The stabiliser he was looking for? The proteins in his own blood? The Gods were on his side! He had four hours left.


Hubei Airport, Wuhan

No one spared a second look to the thin pale man in a faded green overcoat in the washroom. Dr Goy examined his own throat in a mirror, satisfied at the lesions. He had infected himself two hours ago. The X rays’ he had taken before being evicted from the university had showed enough lung inflammation.

Quick, deadly and nonspecific. Perfect. He hoped they autopsied him. That would ensure an efficient aerosol spread.

The pandemic he created was here to stay. The cure to the ultimate pestilence, the mankind!

Pic : Unsplash

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