TIS Magazine 2020

It’s almost too sudden. You don’t see It coming. Whoever sees It coming? It just hits you and then one minute, you’re the most cared for in your community, and the next, you’re barely an after- thought. It doesn’t care. It’s not living, but it strikes. And when it does, God help whoever is in its way. I wake up, my head pounding and my chest heaving. Clots of phlegm stand, piling up during my dreams, ready to rush out when I rise; ready to leave me, along with the breath in my lungs. My lungs. My lungs and throat occasionally give up at trying to hold it in and a mass of pain shoots through my esophagus and I have to. I just have to. I remove the ventilator, hack the phlegm out of my throat and push out violent coughs, wheezing harshly for a while after. The ventilator is forced back onto my face and I shift my nose uncomfortably. Nobody at all wanted to get even 100 me- ters close to me when I was first diagnosed. I can’t blame them, but it hurts me. Nobody gave me a shred of attention and cared even about whether or not I was alright. Ironically, friendlessness became my only friend. I still don’t feel im- portant when the nurses ask how I am feeling, because I know they don’t care and that they just ask to make sure they can use whatever medication I am on, for the benefit of the rest of the world. Once again, I don’t matter. The first time I ever make an impact on the world and I am just another loss, just another thing that It took away. I’m just waiting for that day that I don’t wake up. I wonder if someone will care then. -Claris Perdison DARK ALLEYS Alone * A s h o r t s t o r y b a s e d o n t h e C o r o n a v i r u s p a n d e m i c * 29 |