A story based on the song “Same Disease” by RED.
I was born with an incurable disease. It’s called humanity. This disease kills you slowly, so very slowly that some people might think it’s not really that fatal. You could live to be a hundred before it actually kills you. It’s impossible to tell how long people diagnosed with this have to live.
You laugh. This isn’t a disease, you say. But it is. It didn’t start out that way, but it has become such. Humanity slowly kills people without anyone realizing it. Things start to hurt with no definable cause. People hurt each other, destroy each other. We’re all dying inside, at one point or another.
We stare at each other and say, “Look! Don’t go near that person, they’re different.” Everyone sees the disease in everybody else, but not within themselves. That’s the biggest problem of all. When you have a disease, no one else is allowed to go near you for fear of catching it. No one else except another with the same disease. You’ll be immune to each other.
We’re all immune to each other, but no one realizes it. They reject each other and further seclude themselves, hurt themselves, and those around them. I heard of a cure, once. There’s no proof that it actually works. Evidence, maybe, but no proof. Some people start to be kinder to each other, but they can relapse. Those relapses are the reason there’s no proof.
What’s that cure? It’s love. Not the love you may think of. Not the love of a man and a woman, or a family, or friends. It’s a kind of love that can’t really be explained. Some people claim that they have been given this cure. They relapse. They go back. Relapse again. No proof.
We were born with a disease known as humanity. The only known cure is not even proven to work. But some people still hope. Even if there are relapses, those little moments when you feel healthy are worth more than all the sick days in the world.