She was losing track of time again.
The days of quarantine folded in on themselves like paper origami fortune tellers- the ones tweens played at slumber parties. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: QUARANTINE. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: VIRUS. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: SCHOOL IS STILL OUT. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: STAY 6 FEET AWAY. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: EMPTY SHELVES. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: FLATTEN THE CURVE.
Every day was the same.
Blurred; smeared; a mirage.
She watched some videos on her internet machine. In one a doctor explained how to clean groceries. She had been doing it all wrong. Don’t use reusable bags- they can carry the virus for up to three days. Soak all fruit in a soapy bath, then scrub each piece for twenty minutes. Wipe down all thick boxes, or take out the inner bag and toss the box.
Now she didn’t want to go back to the store- apparently they were absolute cesspools of infection.
She watched another long video about the virus itself and how it attacks and breaks down the alveoli in the lungs, and how it makes arteries leak fluid until blood pressure drops, organs starve, and one dies. She needed her arteries! The narrator also said that the virus could remain in an aerosol state- floating in the air, for 30 minutes.
Walks and bike rides seemed like tempting fate at this point.
How many exhales had she inhaled?
She sucked in air, and held her breath.
The days of quarantine folded in on themselves like paper origami fortune tellers- the ones tweens played at slumber parties. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: QUARANTINE. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: VIRUS. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: SCHOOL IS STILL OUT. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: STAY 6 FEET AWAY. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: EMPTY SHELVES. Pick a number, pick a color, pick a number, pick a color: FLATTEN THE CURVE.
Every day was the same.
Blurred; smeared; a mirage.
She watched some videos on her internet machine. In one a doctor explained how to clean groceries. She had been doing it all wrong. Don’t use reusable bags- they can carry the virus for up to three days. Soak all fruit in a soapy bath, then scrub each piece for twenty minutes. Wipe down all thick boxes, or take out the inner bag and toss the box.
Now she didn’t want to go back to the store- apparently they were absolute cesspools of infection.
She watched another long video about the virus itself and how it attacks and breaks down the alveoli in the lungs, and how it makes arteries leak fluid until blood pressure drops, organs starve, and one dies. She needed her arteries! The narrator also said that the virus could remain in an aerosol state- floating in the air, for 30 minutes.
Walks and bike rides seemed like tempting fate at this point.
How many exhales had she inhaled?
She sucked in air, and held her breath.
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