A room with a view

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.