What Is The Main Argument In Allergic: Our Irritated Bodies In A Changing World?

Horror stories originate from somewhere. Whether from eyewitness accounts or from survivors' tales, they come from somewhere. And while all of us grow up with the folklore, how many of us genuinely believe that werewolves and vampires prowl through the night, taking what they want. I will admit I didn't believe the tales. I thought werewolves and vampires were nothing more than make-believe. Scary stories meant to keep kids in line. That is until a monster ripped me from my warm and sold me to the highest bidder. Where nightmares and horror stories become true is where my story begins. Can I ever be free again, or will the beasts rule my body and soul forever. TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!

‎Amari Dawson has spent her whole life figuring out how to disappear. Locked in her room by a stepfather who sees her as less than nothing, she's survived by staying small, quiet, and out of the way. ‎Then the dead start walking, and disappearing is no longer a choice. ‎Thrown into the chaos of a city overrun by the rising, Amari finds herself navigating broken friendships, buried secrets, and a world that keeps demanding more from her than she thinks she has to give. But something is changing. In the world, and in her. The scratch on her arm that should have killed her didn't. The wounds that should hurt don't. And the veins creeping beneath her skin aren't going away. ‎Amari has always been told she's nothing. But she's starting to think they were wrong about her all along.

My husband claimed he was allergic to women. Even the slightest skin contact made him break out in red, swollen welts. In three years of marriage, we had never once been intimate. Even our child had to be conceived through IVF. After three failed procedures, I finally became pregnant with what I believed was our baby. On the day I was discharged, I received a video. In it, my husband was tangled up with another woman in every position imaginable. His skin was perfectly clear, except for the love bites she had left across his chest. I looked up. My husband was standing beside my bed, peeling an apple for me. He wore a mask, his shirt was buttoned all the way to the collar, and gloves covered both hands. He was protected from me from head to toe. The video had been recorded only the day before. Trembling, I reached for his collar, but he violently slapped my hand away. "Don't touch me! Stay away from me!" He looked at me as though I were filthy. That was when I finally understood. He was not allergic to women's bodily fluids. He was only allergic to me. When my husband went into the bathroom to change, I called the number I had blocked five years earlier. He answered almost instantly. "Send me your location. I'm coming now."

My mother gave birth to a pair of twins. I, the first twin, lived with my grandmother in the countryside since I was little. My twin brother, Felix Carter, lived with our parents during the same period. After I got accepted to a high school in the city, I was finally allowed to live with my parents. I thought I could finally have a taste of the familial love I'd been yearning for. Little did I know that this was the start of my nightmares. My parents and Felix ostracized me all the time, as though I were an outsider. Heck, my status at home wasn't even comparable to that of Felix's pet dog! One day, Felix stuffed a piece of kiwi into my mouth against my will, claiming that he wanted to help me get rid of my allergy toward kiwis. I pleaded with my parents for help with great difficulty, and yet all I received were cold glances from them. "Don't be a wuss! Are we expected to quit eating kiwis because of you?" "You're allergic to kiwis? Ridiculous! You'll get used to them after eating them a few more times!" But what my family didn't know was that severe allergies are actually fatal to the patient.

I was born with a strange, painful condition. Women are strongly drawn to me, yet after I got married, I became allergic to my own wife, Quinn Rowan. Every attempt at intimacy left me covered in burning red welts, struggling to breathe. More than once, I nearly went into shock. Nevertheless, my desire to have a child was overwhelming. So one night, gambling with my life, I quietly slipped into the bedroom. Strangely, nothing happened to me that night. Soon, Quinn became pregnant. I naively believed everything would finally return to normal. Then, eight months into her pregnancy, a single accidental touch sent me into another violent allergic reaction, and I was rushed to the hospital. When I finally came to, Quinn was nowhere to be found. At the end of the corridor, I heard her whispering with her girlfriends, "Look how ridiculous he looked, all swollen and gasping. Pathetic." Quinn dangled the special tonic she had always claimed was meant to help me, her voice dripping with disdain, "I engineered this formula myself. I made sure he’d break out in hives the moment he touched me. That way, he’d never come near me. "But since he was so desperate for a kid, I decided to let him raise the baby Miles and I conceived together. It’s charity, really." My blood froze. The child I longed for, the baby I treasured, was never mine.

I am born with a body that draws men in, but the moment I marry, I develop a terrifying allergy to them. Every time my husband and I try to be intimate, my skin erupts in violent rashes, and I nearly suffocate. Still, I want a child so badly that one night I climb into his bed in secret, willing to gamble with my life. Strangely, nothing happens—no hives, no swelling, no shortness of breath. My husband even takes me to a clinic, where the baby is confirmed healthy. For the first time, I believe life can return to normal. Eight months in, we share a bed again. The allergic reaction hits instantly, worse than ever, and I'm rushed to the hospital. When the procedure ends, he is nowhere to be seen. I step into the hallway and hear him talking with his friends. "Did you see her face? Swollen like that. Ridiculous." Leonard Carter swings a vial of the custom serum he has been giving me and snorts. "I engineered this formula myself. It makes her break out the second a man touches her. It keeps her off me. "She wanted a baby so badly. Fine. She's carrying mine and Hannah's. That should make her feel accomplished. "When she gives birth, I'll let her spend the rest of her life calling herself Mrs. Carter." Blood drains from my face. The child I've been cherishing isn't even mine.