The Aftermath

In the time of isolation, I had forgotten the world. I forgot what shape the clouds were and I forgot the smell of rain. I forgot the touch of the sidewalk outside and I forgot the colour green. All I knew was whatever I could see within the four walls of my own house. I became much too familiar with the photograph that is hung above my fireplace and I believed that the gray colour painted on my bedroom wall was the only colour to exist. Eleven years in isolation, with the only outside we received was the mere sight of an open window. Anyone caught outdoors was immediately arrested and we were required to order food brought to us by flying drones. Those eleven years were the loneliest I had ever known. For someone who lives alone, this circumstance is simply unbearable. Most of us had lost our insanity long before the time the isolation was lifted. It has been twelve years since then and I still remember that day like it’s a home movie constantly playing at the back of my mind. I had just turned fifty-three and had not felt the earth’s wind since I was forty-two. By then, my mother and father were both long gone. I wasn’t even gifted the chance to say goodbye to them. Of course, I was crushed but I knew that the entire world or what was left of it, was just waking up from what felt like a lifetime of hibernation. The first thing I did was walk. I opened the front door that had forgotten the touch of fingertips and I stepped outside to the lonesome sidewalk that surely had missed the tap of my footsteps. I stood still and starred up to the sky. The feeling of the sun’s warmth on my face, is one I would never take for granted again. I walked all the way to the park that I had forgotten the shape of and when I touched the grass below, I ran. After a decade of staying still, I ran. I ran faster than my feet have ever taken me before and the floor below me felt softer than any silk or any kiss I had ever known. Mother Nature had claimed back most of the earth and the greenery had become dominant. Thick vines stangled the towering buildings that used to barely even have flower beds outside. The streets around were filled with rusty cars and bits of debris. Without the poison of constant travel, the air was cleaner and it was as if the after was better than the before. While the virus had wiped out 58% of the world’s population, Co2 levels had plummeted and the remaining humans grew to become more thankful for the little things. Now, life is better. The younger generations shall not worry about climate change killing them off and people are genuine and gracious. The Effect of the Aftermath, we call it.