Visions of St Lazarus : Expanded version of Lazarus Kafkaesque Paper

SAN LAZARO’S KAFKAESQUE PAPER
(The Confessions of a Forgotten Soldier)

I woke up one day in a different form. I was no longer human. I had become a lymphocyte—a shapeless sentinel adrift in an ocean of blood. My body, now ameboid and translucent, slid gelatinously across the vessel walls. I no longer knew limbs or breath, only the silent, rhythmic pulse of crimson tides. How did this happen? How did I turn into this?

Origins

I was as old as the nation I served—the Republic of Reynaldo. I had no name, no soul, no identity—only purpose. Born from the Bone Marrow canals, I emerged like countless others: anonymous, obedient, eager. I was drifting in the bloodstream when Destiny called out to me.

“I am making you a soldier,” it said. “Your role is to defend Reynaldo from all that seeks to destroy it.”

An unseen current pulled me toward the mountainous twin cities known as Kidney. There, hidden deep in the biological terrain, lay Fort Thymus Gland—our military academy. I joined ranks with fellow recruits and was forged through rigorous discipline. We learned combat, reconnaissance, logistics, justice, and the unspoken code of camaraderie. It was there that we transformed: not just in skill, but in purpose.

After graduation, I was reassigned to Fort Lymph Node, near the city of Throat. Destiny’s voice returned once more: “There will always be wars. Do not grow weary. You are mightier than the invaders.”

I became a Reserve. A shadow in the bloodstream. Waiting for the call to war.

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Structure of the Military

In Fort Lymph, I was inducted into Reynaldo’s Defense Forces—a streamlined military compared to the world’s superpowers, but no less effective. Ours had only two branches: the Natural Forces and the Acquired Forces.

The Natural Forces, composed of B-lymphocytes, were our “Born Killers.” They were instinctive and unpredictable, believed to have emerged from a mysterious southern lake called Fabricius in the prehistory of Reynaldo.

I belonged to the Acquired Forces—the “Trained Killers”—the T-lymphocytes. Our training at Fort Thymus was rigorous. We were honed to precision, prepared for enemies our ancestors had never seen. Our rallying cry: *Name it, we kill it! We had brought down Tumor, TB, Leprosy, Flu, Pneumonia—formidable enemies, but never invincible to us.

Within our ranks, soldiers were divided. The ordinary among us served in the battalions of Antibody and Lymphocyte. But the elite—the CD4 Masters—commanded us all. They were the tacticians, the nerve center of our campaigns. Each time an invader appeared, they knew where to strike, when to strike, and how to win. We trusted them implicitly.

War was relentless. Some battles were drills—vaccination campaigns that introduced fake enemies for us to slaughter and study. Others were real—ugly, vicious, bloody. Yet always, we triumphed.

Until we met HIV.

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The Invasion of the Unseen

It started slowly. Subtly. And then it devastated us.

HIV did not strike like other enemies. It infiltrated. It learned. It corrupted. Instead of attacking the army, it targeted the generals—the CD4 Masters. It was the perfect strategy: decapitate the leadership and leave the ranks directionless.

And it worked.

With the commanders gone, I remained in Fort Lymph, hiding. Powerless. I watched as HIV infiltrated the command centers, dismembered our leaders from within, and used them as breeding grounds. What I saw chilled me to my core.

HIV replicated by slicing into the DNA of our CD4 Masters, encoding itself into their very being. Then came the horror: it birthed offspring inside them—soldiers born not from purpose, but from self-destruction. Each infant HIV performed hara kiri—splitting into parts that became new warriors. It was grotesque. Efficient. Unstoppable.

We cried for help. But the Republic turned a blind eye.

Instead of mobilizing, the nation numbed itself. Parties raged, vices flourished. The Republic suspended its emergency state, and its citizens danced in the ruins.

They forgot that each cigarette summoned cancerous invaders, each sleepless night weakened the Heart's engineers, each binge pushed the Liver's chemists to the brink.

The waterworks of the Heart struggled. The Kidneys protested. The Liver faltered. And the Lungs—oh, the Lungs—choked as old enemies returned: parasites, fungi, tuberculosis, pneumonia.

And HIV laughed. Always cloning. Always killing.



Collapse of a Nation

Funerals became daily rituals. I buried comrades—brave souls from Antibody and Lymphocyte battalions. CD4 Masters exploded before our eyes, replaced by mocking, leering HIV soldiers. We scattered. We hid. We hoped.

Then came AZT—*Attack the enemy, Zip its code, Tear it apart*. A miracle? At first. But our people failed to follow through. Discipline was foreign. They forgot doses. HIV adapted. It donned a new armor—resistant, untouchable.

Our hope dwindled.



The Clone Wars

This was no longer a war of bullets or bombs. This was a war of identity. Of biology. Of will.

HIV, born from twisted science and nurtured in political blindness, had become a plague of clones. Ruthless. Empty. Mindless. Their creator? A rogue leader from a distant desert, wielding the secrets of genetics like a weapon of prophecy.

Many called him the Anti-Christ.

Steroids and Antibiotics were brought in as our new commanders. But they lacked understanding. We followed. We faltered.

And then…a whisper of salvation: *Protease Inhibitors*. They stopped HIV’s babies from slicing themselves into war-born fragments. We multiplied. We fought back.

Cocktails, the scientists called them—ironic, considering the drunk state of our nation. But they worked. Hope returned.

For a while.



The Final Hour

Then the nation grew sick of healing. The Kidneys and Liver revolted. Exhausted. Broken. They stopped working. To appease them, the Republic abandoned the Cocktail.

Too late.

Now I am alone.

The Heart no longer pumps. The Liver has petrified. The Kidneys lie poisoned. Parasites dance in the Lake Stomach. The University of the Brain is buried under grief.

I am the last lymphocyte.

Around me, billions of HIV clones sing their victory song—an anthem of ignorance. When I fall, so too shall they. For without a host, they perish.

I am closing the last door in this broken country.

I offer the final tear.
The final heartbeat.
The final breath.

Goodnight, Republic of Reynaldo.

I lay my body to rest.
2025-04-08 16:04:43
visions