Mask Up
A cool breeze gently wafts through the Kensington’s backyard on a warm spring day. The sound of wind chimes can be heard in the distance, the melodic tones accentuating the lack of chirping birds and buzzing insects. The slight wind is the only movement, the stillness of the otherwise serene scene would unnerve even the most stoic onlooker. If there had been one nearby. The breeze pushes the full clothesline in the Kensington’s backyard, the only indication these weren’t normal times were the cloth facemasks pinned to one of the lines. The first year was rough on the world, many not used to having to keep such great distances from each other, although a sizable population did not heed the warnings. Frustration on a global scale grew after the third year. Many grew restless with the curfews and the constant rapid tests whenever they ventured too far from home. The variants grew and mutated, jumping from species to species until no creature that possessed lungs was safe. The government ceded control of the situation to the biotech corporations, granting them carte blanche to contain and eradicate the infection how they saw fit. The maskless were forced underground by the draconian enforcement instituted by the corporations, allowing the final mutation to begin. Cloaking themselves in the masks they swore to not wear, they infiltrated every city and every household, spreading their sickness borne of their ignorance. By the fifth year, the Quiet Apocalypse was finished, as was the human race.
Image courtesy of https://pixabay.com/