We spoke of it in euphemisms - have you been visited, how is your resident today, how are the neighbours taking to the new weather front coming in... calling it by what it is would only make it feel real. We don't want reality. Reality means we'll all die surrounded by blood, pus and whatever hallucinations our minds conjure up to rationalise and comfort us in our final hours.
If we treat it like a guest who's soon to be on their way out then we can pretend that our lives are just scattered with coincidences and brief periods of sickness. The worst symptoms are clearly just stress dreams and we will be fine with a bit of rest and good soup.
If we hear each other's voices whispering through the mycelium in our veins, feel their emotions pulsing in our temples, if we speak with another person's voice then we must be letting our imaginations run away with us and we just need a day off. Everything will settle down in the morning.
If some homes are more like fungal nests, if the school is a spore-trap, if the town all has been barricaded for so long a new strain has developed then we have a little pest problem. Nothings bit of anti-mould spray wouldn't fix... if we could bring ourselves to go anywhere near it without the network screaming in our veins and begging us to protect the colony.
We all have a friend living with us.
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