Brains are Messy

Let me know if you notice any grammar errors.  I'm also wondering if it makes sense, if there are discrepancies, or if there are any confusing parts. Thanks. Brains Are Messy by Cat Brains are messy.  They get everywhere.  Even blood, the horrid and miserable liquid, pales in comparison to brains.  Brains smell.  They stink to high heaven before every hitting the floor.  They crust too.  If you don’t get the brains out before they dry you might as well throw the clothes to the dogs. You, dear reader, are probably concerned with my association with these brains.  I give you the most whole-hearted conviction that they are not human brains.  But of course that depends on your definition of humans.  But onward, dear reader, I must explain and you must listen.             The date was 1812.  I was a young student of health at Oxford.  My days were filled of labs and dingy classrooms.  I slept each night smelling of preserves, and woke each morning smelling worse.  I was paler than a ghost and skinnier as well.  I had no time but to do my work, and then more work.  Every ounce of my time was requested for this and that.  I would have wished for a reprise, had I the time, but I tarried each day; I loved the work, I enjoyed the smells, the sights, and nothing could keep me from my presumed future.  Nothing, it seems, but a horde of walking corpses.             I had finished a class (some sort of mathematical endeavor) and was strolling to my next class.  The walk was quiet and pleasant; birds were chirping, and the sky was a tumultuous gray, full of yellow streaks (a fine shade for London-time).  I had no cares in the world, save a timely arrival to the amphitheater where the class was being held.              As I reached the theater I should have noticed a peculiar change in the air.  The birds had stopped chirping, and a stale humor had come over the place.  But, of that, I did not notice, perhaps I would have ran away.  I may have spirited myself to some secret spot, knowing that danger was abound.  But, no, I hastened on.             I went to my seat.  Greeting my peers I sat in the chair, the room was a buzz with scholarly ejaculations.  As the hour to start our class approached the room quieted to a dull roar.  The classroom swelled with anticipation, waiting for our teacher to appear.  Nothing happened.  Chuckles filled the room.             "Bet he was hobnobbing with the dame from the library, if you catch my drift."  The brash man in the back made rude gestures to illustrate his point.             Fifteen minutes elapsed, still no teacher.  The class was getting restless; several students had left.  I sat quietly engrossed in the latest tome of medical maladies.  That was until I heard a soft thwap. I assumed it was a juvenile prank designed to pass the time.  That was until I heard the screams.  These were not your average screams; those of scholarly amusement, but rather those of blood curdling fear.  I looked up.  A monster in human form lumbered from our teacher’s office.  Blood rolled down from the monster’s jowls, and flesh dropped with wet schleps from the body.  His head, for it was a he, lolled to the left precariously.  His arms waved with no energy, succeeding only in remaining balanced.  The entire room erupted in the scraping of desks and throwing of books; shouts permeated the air.  I sat stunned, staring at the mass of seemingly human flesh, though it was not human at all; I had never seen such a creature (oh, how I wish that were still true).  A loud scream near my ear woke me from my reverie of examination.  A classmate was caught; his loud coat tails were entangled in the desk, an unusual occurrence to be sure, though, at the moment, I had no worries about it.  I rushed over and procured a scalpel (remember, dear reader, I was a surgeon) and with it cut his coat.  I placed my hand on the classmate’s back and shoved him away from the monster.  We ran.  Then, he tripped.  A sigh escaped my lips; seeing nothing close to my person I grabbed a book.  Seeing as our anatomy texts were quite heavy the blow I imparted to the monster’s head was forceful enough to completely tear the monster’s neck apart.  The body dropped with the head; the thing lay still. "My word," the classmate had finally regained his voice.             "Hmmm.  Severing the medulla seems to have halted the movement."             "Yes."  We both ponder this for a while.  "What is it?"             "I don’t know. Have you ever seen anything like this before?"             "Never."  Our dialog was cut short by a piteous groan.  We look at each other, the hint of recognition playing across our face.             "Professor?"  We made haste to the office.  "Professor Johnson?"  There was our professor prostrate on the floor, bleeding.  "Professor!"             "Stop!"  Professor Johnson held up a hand.  "Come no closer."  Cut bled profusely on his face.             "Professor?"             "Stop.  I think I’m infected."             "Professor?"             "That thing.  I think it changed me."             "Into what?"  My daft classmate ejaculated.             "A monster, shush.  Professor.  Tell us what happened."             "I was working on a plague, and I tripped, it fell on the cadavers.  They morphed into that thing."  I took in the empty beds surrounding us, there were at least 50 beds.             "Why?"             "I’m not sure."  Professor. His skin was beginning to pale.  I could see a green tinge showing; a lump of flesh fell off of his face.             "Professor.  It’s infectious?  No cure."             "Yes, you should leave.  And no, I doubt a cure will be found."             "Farewell then."  I grabbed my book.  Taking a deep breath I slammed it on his head.  The classmate screamed.  "The medulla is severed," I bent over the professor.             "You killed him!"             "It was necessary."  The classmate shook his head.  "Well it’s done.  Let’s go.  The monster is still roaming." "Where are you going?" We had gone different ways.             "You want a weapon don’t you?"  I lead him to the autopsy room.  Scalpels, saws, and all the medical instruments lined the room.  I selected a large knife, used for stomach and muscles, and a medium hammer, used for bone.  My classmate stood mute.              "Well, will you pick one or not."  I quipped.             "We don’t even know if we need them, it could not spread, there’s a chance."  I looked at him in amazement.             "There were 50 tables empty!  You saw the professor.  He was infected.  If I hadn’t stopped him we would have been infected.  It would have gotten us.  And how many would have killed the monster, none?  Yes, none.  So now there are hundreds of them.  We need to be ready.  Take a saw, take a knife, any knife you choose.  Be ready."  He paled but nonetheless picked a large knife.             "Right.  Ah, I’m ready."             "Are you sure?"             "Yes."             We went to leave when a thought crossed my mind.             "Will you kill me?"             "What!?"             "If I become infected, kill me." I hold my breath, my future seemingly hanging in the balance.  I refused to become a monster.             "If you kill me" I smile.             "With haste."  We shook hands, "Follow me," and ran out from the autopsy room.  To our horror we found hundreds of monsters stumbling along.             "Don’t people know how to run?" I could not believe so many had succumbed to the plague.