‘’A thin flu in the air’’, short story by Em.peter on coronavirus

[Image credit:UIHere]

Coronavirus! Very illness released universally of Satan, you are such a global enemy, who murders his victims without a remorse, nor a second chance for plea. painful death you have brought us, and our once delightful streets you have taken and isolated us.
Our treasures are ceased and frozen in the quake of your distressing storm of isolation . Our beauty consumed in your bile for the human race. ” How rude and unfriendly are you? I question, thinking to myself as I stand here behind my window, starring constantly at the empty city I no longer walk , the roads and the bridges I don’t drive anymore and the buildings I don’t sleep in.
Now, in utter silence, I mourn my lost loved ones in the med houses. And ruefully folding my arms from the last human contact I had and the smiling faces I saw but will never see again, I weep and scream from the rooftops. But,  ”Silence, Silence, says the empty streets to me,  ‘’you are alone and shut in forever.’’
‘‘It’s dusk, the creeps and goose bumps is beginning to take the whole of your night , my lonely mind also complains continually within me.
My body is cold. My eyes are squint from looking at the light bulbs , seeking for the inner comforter, but still I can’t. It’s been a while, my spirit has been so far from its touch since the raving sin of our city never allowed me, nor let it dwell. So, my thoughts wander and plead:   ‘’ O’  lighten your burden of instant judgement on us coronavirus and your restrictions to our mutual joy. ‘‘Oh, give me freedom, I’m wet from the sweat of a hot night, but cold at my feet with fetters. Now, it races, yet my mind races to where I was before you stole our time .’’

Rhythmically, my
quiet soul sings:

‘’A thin flu in the air, a conquered loser, a failed fighter.
Out of our neighbours’ homes you’ve taken parents,
their daughters and sons orphans you’ve turned.

Yet, in our combat with your armies can’t be scared and can’t yell at you,
’cause you aren’t strong and  resilient as we are, nor feel as we do.
Can’t surrender ’cause you aren’t powerful but a poor weakling,
Prowling notorious murder of his innocent victims,
a thin flu in the air, a conquered loser, a failed fighter.’’

And from even farther, I hear a rumbling sound of leaves off the tender branch of an apply tree in the backyard. I stop singing. It was the perch of a songbird. But with my hand on the door knob, I stop and draw back and frown and listen, as she sings:
‘’ Ho, ho, go Coronavirus! Go our nests are bare from lost of food remnants on the streets, our songs are stale.
And no human to appreciate our voice of songs but cries
of sorrows, go Coronavirus, go our nests are bare.

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Author: Bluemagic

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