Epidemic

I wrote this in traditional story formatting, but decided to play with it when I pasted it in here. I moved the lines around more like verse.

It all started when someone left the window open...
First came the shivers, which was odd as it was the middle of summer.
100 degrees, and we shivered. That lasted for three weeks.
We bundled up in layers and huddled together under all the blankets we owned.
Then the itching began. It felt as if we were attacked by fleas, but there were no bites.
In fact, I had noticed that there were no bugs or pests of any kind.
We dealt with the itching until it was intolerable.
I went out to get some calamine lotion. They were sold out.
Everyone was scratching, it wasn’t just us. I was both relieved and alarmed.
On one hand, we weren’t alone, on the other, it appeared to be an epidemic.
I got back home and saw the blood. Drops on the floor leading to the bathroom.
I followed the drops and found her.
She was in the tub crying hysterically,
her nails sinking into the skin on her arms and legs.
It seemed to peel away easily.
Through the tears, she managed to scream
“It still itches! It still itches!”
She couldn’t stop herself. I didn’t know what to do, my mind blank from shock.
I called for help but no one came. I shut the door and left her in there.
I feared for myself. I felt awful about it, abandoning her in there to die, but
I had to. I had to think of my own survival.
She stopped screaming after ten hours. She didn’t make any noise at all after that.
I needed to look.
My hand trembled as I reached for the knob. What would I find?
I grabbed it and turned. I gave a slight push and nearly collapsed.
Bones and goo slowly flowing down the drain.
She had dissolved.
Would this happen to me? When? Oh God, I’m going to dissolve, oh Jesus!
What am I going to do? My mind was filled entirely with questions and terror.
I noticed that the itching had stopped. Am I getting better? What does this mean?
I couldn’t be certain. I played it safe and shut the bathroom, quarantine.
I didn’t go outside. It wasn’t safe out there.
I remembered the window. That damn window.
I shut it and wondered who had opened it in the first place. I hoped it wasn’t me.
I hoped it wasn’t my fault that she was gone.
Purple lines began to appear on my fingertips.
They slowly crawled onto my hand and up my arms. They looked like veins.
They spread onto my chest and down my back. They reached my legs and chin.
The lines kept moving down to my toes and onto my face.
They closed in and sank into my eyes.
I was blind.
Did this happen to her before she dissolved?
I didn’t see her after I shut her in, and her skin was falling off.
Could this have happened to her? Oh God, I can’t see! How long will this last?
I sat where I stood, too scared to walk.
I slowly crawled around, feeling for my phone.
My fingers knew where the numbers were.
Familiarity, slightly calming.
I pressed 911. It was disconnected. What had happened?
Was this everywhere?
I imagined piles of bones in chairs at the call center
with puddles of human goo on the floor.
I couldn’t see outside so I opened the window that started all of this.
There was no noise. No cars, no voices, nothing.
I imagined, like the call center, cars stopped with piles of bones in the seats
and puddles of goo at the pedals. I shut the window once again.
My legs went numb, they wouldn't move.
I pulled myself with my arms, dragging my useless legs behind me to the corner,
curled up,
and waited to die.