Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.
Day Two Hundred and Two
I woke to darkness and the sound of what might have been a gunshot. I stayed still, eyes open, staring at nothing while I listened intently for something more to follow. Shouts and cries. Sirens in the distance. But there was only silence. I tried to return to sleep but could not, still waiting, expectant, for something that didn’t come.
Today was the first day in nearly two weeks that my love and I walked together to work. It was still dark when we crawled out of bed, not even a hint of the sunrise present on the horizon, and the dark followed me on my lone journey home. It shall only grow from here until December, steadily shrinking the days until it begins to feel as though the morrow will bring no sun at all. The change happens quickly now, or at least it seems to, the darkness accelerating, more noticeable every morning we rise.
There were thin dark clouds in the sky above as we walked, emitting a few drops of rain, as if in warning of a deluge. Yet none appeared on the sidewalk before us and the ones that struck us were barely noticeable. The rain fell, but the dry wind evaporated the drops before they could reach us. It has been a month at least since there was any rain and it seemed as though the clouds were desperate to provide it. Wait though I did none came and the wind carried the clouds away.