At what must have been barely 6.30 I awoke, if waking is the correct term for my transition from the half-conscious slumber of the dark hours to the even more terrifying light of day. I lay in a pool of cool sweat, the bed linen clinging to my body like seaweed. The open window would have welcomed night time intruders, yet it was only a wind come in the night which caused the curtain to flick against the sill, mimicking the sound of an unknown worrying at the latch. My transition to consciousness complete, and once again able to operate all of my own limbs, I hauled my torso into an upright position to begin the next phase of the ritual. The morning breeze stabbed ice prongs into my chest. I reached for some fabric with which to cover myself: an object which the previous day would have passed for a clean shirt. Then a glass of water: a humble liquid, yet the elixir common to every living organism with which I would share the new day. For the night terrors had once again granted me probation until evening, given that nothing else should take me in the meantime.
Partially dried out and risen, I proceeded slipper-shod downstairs. Water may sustain life, but coffee is the true fuel of the daylight hours and I prepared this to the background noise of fresh propaganda spewing from the small radio in the kitchen. The famous resolve of our national identity now clearly a construct of politicians and media, for even living generations are afflicted by selective memory. The Great Pandemic, the silent and invisible killer, the effects of which are seen everywhere, by all men, the only topic of snatched conversation, has now claimed ten thousand souls. The stifling oppression of the night had at least provided respite from the seemingly impossible reality of government curfew. They say we are fighting a war, but this time there will be no resounding victory, no bombs to ignite the dawn in the name of liberty. We just sit and wait, watching from afar as our comrades fall and the statistics climb, until a time when the casualty reports fizzle to an acceptable background level. Then we emerge, blinking, into a freshly sanitised new world.
I augmented the usual liquid breakfast with slices of bread and charred bacon. I fed the cat, also living in quarantine but unable to articulate her frustration except to shout for regular meals.
April 2020