Hard Luck Hank: Prince of Suck

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I was on the floor of my living room, my hand clutching my chest, having a heart attack.

Again.

Actually, I wasn’t sure if it was a heart attack, or heart failure, or both. I suppose it was all academic. And I never did very well in school.

I liked to tell myself that I didn’t keep track of how many heart attacks I suffered, but in these past six months I had eight. The prior six months was five. The six months before that only two. So it was clear which way things were headed.

Unless of course I died right now.

I wanted to cough, since I had fluid in my lungs, but I couldn’t get in enough air. And I was burning up because my skin had long ago lost the ability to sweat and dissipate heat.

The insulting part was if I managed to survive this attack, I would experience them even more frequently. Because of my mutation, my body would stack layer upon layer of new cells over the damage, trying to make my organs more durable than ever, until my heart became so rigid it would be incapable of pumping even if it was hooked up to the city’s electrical grid.

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