future – iblamethequarantine

Plan/nt/ing

Yesterday, I did two things. First, I canceled my plane ticket and hotel for a July trip to London. I was to be presenting at the International Creative Writing Conference, which is not happening now. I was also planning to do some research for a few essays about when I lived there for a few years in the eighties.

Of course, I’m bummed not to be going this summer. Slowly, all my plans for the summer are dying as are most folks’ plans. Of course, planning is all about the future. Through one lens, the future gapes: a black hole of uncertainty.

The other thing I did yesterday was plant vegetable seeds: arugula, spinach, carrots, basil, yellow squash. Seed sowing is inherently chancy. Soil conditions, seed quality, fertilizer, sun, water – all have to balance for anything to grow. Some seasons, you stare at dead earth, wondering what happened. Other seasons, fruit hangs heavy on the vine.

This morning, I said to my husband, Paul, “Here’s the daily sprout report. No sprouts yet.”

Today, a couple of windows into the future.

–KLB

Inevitable

“I blame the quarantine”. Everyone said it. “Keep yourself safe” they said, “stay inside”, they said. And everyone agreed without question. And regrettably; so did I, at the time. But now 2 years on, as one of the world’s leading journalists I have uncovered the ultimate truth. I know it may seem far-fetched, but this is more than a theory, more than a concept. In fact it’s a revolution.

It was in summer of 2021 that they discreetly made the decision to leave democracy as a thing of the past. And now in this new reality of dictatorship, I write the sad story of how the world crumbled and fell into the hands of the corrupt.

The government manufactured and unleashed the virus onto Wuhan, China. It was developed to spread rapidly, becoming fatal to a portion of humanity after a year. Little did we know, quarantine would fix nothing; it was to continue until humanity was cleansed of anything considered impure by the government. This shocking possibility came to me back in 2020 during a time where it was nothing but “just a harmless flu” to most.

A lawyer called, informing me of my newly deceased father. A will came days later, stamped with the official government crest. The symbol of my age old enemy. A letter was enclosed in the envelope among heaps of files. The letter revealed that even after our years apart, he still entrusted me with the most important information on the planet. “They intended to wipe out all who are weak and vulnerable, it was their plan from the start”. Those who were deemed impure would die…and they still are. This needs to be shared with the world; we must cease this sickness before it is too late. We must prevent the seemingly inevitable.

–Olivia Page, age 13 & Emily Lincoln, age 13

THE NASDAQ JUMPED 200 POINTS YESTERDAY

I wouldn’t say I blame the quarantine, but my roommates and I are digging a grave in our basement. We won’t need it right away (we’re young and strong and still able to create value for shareholders), but eventually it’ll come in handy. The concrete was the hard part. Chipping away at it with pickaxes like railroad workers of old. We brought a TV downstairs and put on the news to motivate ourselves. Death toll, community spread. Pundits speculating about how many Americans should be executed to boost the Dow.

I should clarify that the grave has little to do with the virus and more to do with what the folks on the TV aren’t saying. About a nation-sized machine that feeds on blood. About the scale on which our hearts are weighed against bars of gold and the hearts are always heavier.

We hit a pipe and cold water sprayed out, smelling of lead. I think it would have drowned us if it had kept flowing, but someone shut it off before it got the chance—a kindness which muddles the metaphor a little, but I guess I can forgive it.

We switched to shovels then. Dredging thick muck and tossing it aside. Water sloshed against an outlet and the TV died and the cord caught on fire. We were all thankful for that.

We’re nearly finished now. The hole isn’t six feet, but should be enough for the three of us. We thought about separate graves, but what’s the use in that? When it’s our turn to feed the machine, just dump us in the hole and cover it so we don’t spread anything. But please remember to put coins in our mouths to pay the ferryman. No room in the afterlife for freeloaders.

–Shane Inman