I know a guy. He lived in a big
empty house but still he would remain confined to the walls of his room. The room
was small but it was painted in pastel yellow and grey. It was a striking contrast
to the colors of rest of the house. The room kept him alive. The room kept him
tethered. He felt protected and secure within the walls of his room. Heaps of
food packets and mineral water bottles occupied the loft. The drawers were
filled with fancy medicines. He had no visitor and would spend his time in front
of a blinking computer screen writing random stuff. The room had a small
window. The window served as a look out into the outer world for him. He would
observe the world through the window and the apparent transformation that had
changed the view over all these years. But the window only served only a certain
degree of vision and the man couldn’t foresee anything beyond that. Everything
else beyond the perspective of window was alien to him.
But the man had a secret. Contrary
to the false beliefs, the man would often cross the boundaries of his rooms and
walk into the hallway which would lead to a terrace. The terrace was wide and
open. There was an old and ruptured wooden chair that lay in the middle of it. The
man would occupy the chair and then was lost into a void of empty thoughts. He would
stare into a blatant emptiness for hours and still not aware of the course of
time. He would then, get up from the old chair, grasp a long breadth and lay
down on the floor of terrace. He would look into the bluish skies, watching
over the birds fly. He would draw patterns into the dispersing clouds. He loved
to hear the chirps of birds on the nearby mango tree or the buzz of a honeybee
that would wander over his flowers. He would sometimes close his eyes and let
the calm wind flow through his hair. He watched
over the sky as it turned from deep blue to crimson red and orange and finally
till the darkness would begin to descend. The walls of the terrace were too high for him
to look beyond them. He knew his options were limited. He had nothing else to
do instead of just surviving. He was aware of the fragile circumstances to
which he was compelled to withstand. He wanted to escape but was uncertain of
his future. He didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know whom to contact. He questioned
his identity and his existence now. All this way he tried to remain safe within
the proximity of his room, somehow surviving but now he was running out of time
as well as resources. He knew there would be no aid coming to his rescue. All that had to be done has to be decisive actions of himself. But he didn’t know how
to survive in the world outside the walls of his room. He now face a grave dilemma:
either to live in a false hope that someone would come to his rescue and die in
anonymity and solitude or he could gather up his courage and strength and leap
over the walls into the outside world where he would gift himself the chances of
been discovered and rescued so that he could not only survive but in actual make
a life for himself.
*Reality check*
It has been 2 years since the
epidemic hit the humanity. The world has lost a majority of population to the
deadly virus. Economies have crashed. Governments have fallen. No laws exist
anymore. Civilisations are dead. Only a handful survives now. The streets are
now flooded with blood and only the dead now walks and packs them. There is no
cure. There is no preventative. There is no escape. Confronting with your worst
nightmare and surviving are the only available choice.
