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They called it a Pandemic, only I knew better!
Aware of weird gurgles, suspicious coughs,
groans and grunts that didn’t sound good from
the adjacent apartment. Loud prolonged hacks
and coarse breathing. Somebody there was ill.
Possibly more than ill: Apocalyptic-sick!
My stomach churned, discerning awful noises.
Frantic and obsessively I waited. Imagination
whipped up a zombie-esque Panic Party of
shivers and shakes. Whatever festered behind
that wall, I felt disinclined to escalate a rising
toll. I tend to be a devout handwringer...
“Stay home!” the Television blared.
Why wouldn’t they listen? They kept leaving!
Spreading it to others! That’s how these things
spiral out of control. Before you know it the
streets are empty, except for clusters of Undead.
I watched all the movies, the gruesome shows;
the indoctrination films released in advance.
We were warned. Am I the lone person who
paid attention??? Ordinarily paranoid about
germs, I wanted to comply with orders and
didn’t wish to answer if I heard a knock, so
I laid low for a week, my curtains closed, the
lamps extinguished. What could I do to help?
Stranded, a scuttled wreck?
Not the best time for Emergency Declarations,
orders to Self-Isolate. I was reduced to licking
the inside of cereal and potato-chip bags...
My cabinets stark, my Fridge bereft. Mentally
prepared, not physically. I read books by
flashlight on the floor. Hunkering. Hiding.
Waiting as long as I could, I was forced to
suspend Hibernation and step out of a shy
Hermit Shell, make a starved trek. Hoping
there were provisions left in stores, I raided
my Piggybank. I’ll miss you Mister Oinky.
Pillaged the Penny Jar; my Coin Collection.
I ransacked my armchair and sofa.
Then snuck out so the neighbors wouldn’t see.
Or hear. Pockets ringing like alarm-bells, feeling
conspicuous, I tiptoed after Dusk toward the
nearest Supermarket. And circled back, my
conscience acute, prodding me to ask through
an imposing barrier if they required assistance.
Strangers I shared a tenuous connection with,
by proximity. A polite inquiry; more an inquest:
“Are you okay?” Of course they aren’t! raved
my rational mind. A fist hesitated to rap. “Need
any supplies from the store? I’m going now.
Is there something you could use?” Silence.
No Crickets. No Tinnitus.
The quiet of a tomb; the burial vault at the
heart of a Pyramid heralded me. Relief, my
first reaction. A coward braced to slink away.
Tense nerves almost eased a hair. Until a series
of squishy thumps approached. What’s that?
Nothing wholesome or hale I was certain.
After living in Survival Mode for much of
my existence, I had a pretty heightened sense
of Self-Preservation. I knew in each fiber
that ticked or hummed or throbbed; that shed
to great gobs of skin cells and lint cluttering
under-beds and the corners of rooms...
Down to my perspiring soles.
(I may have ignored such instincts, the dire
signals to stockpile disaster precautions, to
accumulate quantities of food in advance.)
My orbs the size of Ping-Pong Balls, staring
in rapt reluctance, I didn’t really seek a reply,
hoping to continue a perilous journey!
Inwardly I pleaded for the door not to open.
That infernal slab refused to obey. Locks
echoed, clacking, clicking. Hinges gradually
creaked, taking their time about it. A gap
appeared and slowly...excruciatingly...
tauntingly widened. I gaped in horror.
Balking. Crumpling. Cringing.
A thought occurred: Maybe I should run.
I couldn’t, limbs petrified, gourd as hollow
as a pumpkin carved for last Halloween.
I simply stood whimpering, anticipating
whatever cards Fate would deal, eyes
transfixed upon an unfolding sight. Death.
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Or the next thing to it. Eerie crevices were
carved in flesh. Lumps and motley colors
adorned him. Beyond that I couldn’t say.
He continued to morph. I to self-destruct—
as one will at their wit’s end, overwhelmed
by the macabre ghoul I encountered.
Decomposing, unraveling...
Evolving before me; bumps pushing forth,
sprouting from waxlike features and neck
as if Tumors or Boils. His head cracked,
revealing a gangrenous brain. India-Ink
blood seeped from eyes, nostrils, lips.
A swollen extended tongue slipped out.
Eyes rolling, an arm reaching, he lurched
toward me groping. I had not heard of
a cranium-severing disease, and I looked
them all up, researched every ailment known
to man or beast. This was unprecedented.
It was undocumented. Foreign, alien...
Undoubtedly contagious!
I fled. Lanes were desolate in the middle
of the day. An occasional pauper, homeless,
unable to retreat indoors. And folks like me,
caught without a can of beans to their name.
Random people, through no fault of their own,
lacking a social network. A circle of support.
A family, though they probably had friends
and relatives at another point in their lives.
I fell into that category, devoid of close ties.
Others might increase their guns and ammo
stashes out of insecurity. Or turn to addiction,
immerse themselves in bad unhealthy habits.
Neither saint nor sinner...
I only wanted to restock. I found the Market
a madhouse, overrun. Between Infected,
Hoarders, Impulse-Buyers, Spree-Shoppers,
Looters, the aisles were crowded, shelves bare.
In the Paper Section, hysteria went from nuts
to worse, weapons drawn, moods homicidal.
Events were no laughing matter yet I couldn’t
stop chortling as I raced around snatching what
I might. Greeting Cards, a package with a single
cracker, a crushed Cereal Box, Red-Hot Pretzels,
a discarded Face Mask, Mustard, Mouthwash,
a tub of Vegetable Shortening, Gerbil Food.
Five canisters of Tennisballs.
Arbitrary items, either incomplete or unwanted,
but I counted myself lucky to have something!
The Cashiers devoured or fired, I dashed out of
Mick’s Grocery Mart, guilty, hugging my plunder.
Would the world ever be the same? I knew not.
A woman with a splitting skull appeared.
Tissue buckling on her aspect, the Lurker
limped in my direction. Did she seek a piece
of me or crave the purloined objects in my
arms? I refused to surrender this meager haul
I risked life and limb to acquire. Kicking
the Rotter’s shin, I dodged and swerved by.
She howled in my wake.
The entire trip home, weeping, ashudder,
I clung to those questionable prizes. A star
athlete rushing to score at the end of a field—
a desperate mother bringing a meal to her
young. As if my life depended on it, while
Society capsized, tipped violently off-kilter.
Like many, without enough to fall back on,
too little saved up when our Rockbottom
collapsed, when the ratty hole-riddled net
for safety and security dropped us down
a deep Wishing Well to gawp at distant light
and dream, trapped in a frightmare.
Too often we had no nest.
Still believing in Tomorrow, I persist...
Cowering, recoiling if shadows cross my
windows, should thuds quake the door.
Terrified cretins are coming for me. Enduring
on a diet of apples and pears robbed from the
neighbor’s branches above a sturdy fence —
Which won’t last forever. Someday I must
venture from seclusion, set foot past this
refuge and scout for a glimmer of fortune.
The brightest news in months, I heard that
Climate Change was halted just in time.
It took an Apocalypse to save the Planet.
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