Sometimes, I forget that the world is still turning.
Rain reminded me of this today. I watched as the raindrops traced their ways down the window glass. I stared as the clouds shifted in the weary sky. Silently, I even went outside, just to feel the rain. To feel it, let in run down my cheeks and into my hair. The sensation of feeling wetness made me feel a little lighter. The withered flowers upon the tattered soil even looked beautiful as they collected raindrops. In that moment, I thought that everything was the same as it used to be.
But it’s not.
Rain can’t change the situation. I don’t think anything can.
Cars don’t pass by every day, birds don’t squawk at each other in the tree tops. Lights are out, curtains are drawn. An eerie silence envelops me hour after hour. My parents are never home, and I know they will never come home. No one comes.
It’s been a few months now, ever since this whole thing started happening. Ever since word of the virus got out, everyone started panicking. Amidst the distress, boys in my class joked about it: The End of the World. It was a scary topic; it was so outlandish a few months ago. But now it is was so real. Taking a walk around the neighborhood is now risking your life. It has become a matter of life or death. There’s no use in talking about life before, it is not happening and never will again. This is my new life: staying alive. Day after day, I live in fear. All my hope has been squeezed out of my body. I think fear has finally conquered hope.