Unfinished

MONDAY

Aloe waited expectantly for totality. He had spent the past hour using a filter on his phone to record and watch the moon slowly overtake the sun. Right now, it was a tiny sliver of silver that was quickly receding. Camped out in his backyard, Aloe could hear his neighbors chattering excitedly as it got progressively darker. Suddenly Aloe’s screen went dark and his head snapped up toward the sky. Safe to look at with the naked eye, the sun was a radiating ring of orange light around a core of pure night. The birds chirped politely and buzzing grasshoppers seemed to hush in the sudden darkness. On either side of the combined sun and moon, two stars burned cheerily like dimples. 

Fumbling with the solar filter, Aloe held his phone up to catch the totality event before it disappeared. Where he lived, it would last about two minutes, not nearly enough time. Unfortunately, Aloe’s mother thought the eclipse was an event to bring demons into this world and so she wouldn’t drive him to a place where it would last longer. In fact, here was Aloe’s mother now.

“ALOE,” she bellowed. “Get your skinny backside in here before something happens!”

“Coming, mom.” He turned back to the totality. 

“I MEAN IT!”

“Yeah, I know!”

When Aloe didn’t move, she yelled something unintelligible. Maybe about church. Either way, Aloe wasn’t missing this for anything. 

The two minutes were nearly up. He put the filter back on to protect his phone lens and sat back, bathing in the cool air and slight breeze that had risen once the moon had eclipsed the sun's burning disk. It had been a hot day and this short reprieve was sorely needed. He stared up at the ring of light, trying to commit it to memory. The next one would be a long time coming. 

Five minutes later Aloe looked at the ring with less awe and more worry. He could hear the people in neighboring yards muttering. Four minutes later the muttering turned into an all out debate. Adults shouted over fences and kids ran around their legs, coming up with wild theories about dinosaurs and magic, one kid even exclaiming that he had caused it to happen.

“Aloe,” his mother called. “Time to get inside.” She sounded anxious and he could understand why. Aloe obeyed. 

He stayed inside for the rest of the day, finding that he didn’t want to do anything he would have normally found entertaining. When he turned on the T.V. the unrelenting totality was on the news. When they tried to watch a show, he couldn’t focus on the plot and found his thoughts drifting to the eclipse. He turned it off. Reading didn’t help. Nor did laying on the floor and waiting to die. 

In preparation for the demons, Aloe’s mother had closed all the blinds, leaving Aloe feeling like he was in a horror film awaiting the enemy’s next move. From his spot on the floor he watched his mother do various chores, finding things to keep herself busy. The rest of the day was spent like this, one of them peeking out the window from time to time. Dinner was eaten in silence. 

TUESDAY

Aloe woke up to his alarm screaming at him to wake up. He mumbled an unfavorable word and reluctantly rolled out of bed. After pulling on whatever he could find in his closet, he headed to the kitchen to get breakfast. Halfway there, he remembered the events of the previous day and cautiously looked out the window. Still dark. Still in totality.

“Mom,” he called, his eyes still trained on that eerie ring of fire. “Do I have to go to school?”

“Yes.” 

He jumped, turning to where his mother had suddenly appeared. She looked awful, dark bags under her eyes and hair floating around her head. 

“Um…okay.”

“Breakfast is in the kitchen. I’m going back to bed.” From the looks of it, she needed it.

At school the kids were unfocused. Many resembled his mother in that they looked like they hadn’t slept in days. Teachers had to close the blinds to prevent kids from staring at the sun. Other teachers let their students have a free period while they talked to people over the phone. In the latter, the students spoke in hushed tones, most of the conversations revolving around their situation, a stark contrast to the barely controlled melee of any other school day. At lunch kids faked camaraderie and forced laughter. The yard was almost deserted, the oppressing feel of that relentless ring and eternal night. His last class was set loose to do whatever they wanted and a discussion arose about what to call their new sun. Some proposed a mash of sun and moon, but “soon,” “smoon,” “mun,” and “smun” didn’t sound right. There was a chuckle after one girl recommended calling it a zygote. Aloe contributed with “ring” and most people liked that better than the other suggestions. Social media was calling it the corona, and they unanimously agreed to start calling it that.

FRIDAY

Aloe put down his phone, feeling sick. Almost all social platforms were calling it the end of times. News of people landing in hospitals due to some illness that seemed to have no cause was everywhere. Named the Corona Virus it started out with restlessness and inability to sleep. Later symptoms included reduced appetite and thirst, vomiting, paleness, and hair loss. Research was still ongoing as it started only after totality. Nobody had died yet, thankfully. 

Aloe was terrified that his mother had contracted it. Ever since the first day of eternal dusk (or day or night depending on where you lived), it didn’t seem she had slept at all. Every morning she made breakfast, but never seemed to eat. He tried to get her to go to a hospital, but she swore she was fine. 

“I ate at work.” 

“I slept some last night, it’s just this unnatural darkness, messing up my internal clock.”

“You’re a sweet child. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

“It’s my faith fighting the demons. It will pass.”

“Those people are just dramatic. They’ve got the flu.”

“It’s stress. Deadlines and all.”

He was particularly worried today. She had holed herself in her room, not responding when Aloe asked for her. 

MONDAY

One week since Totality. That’s what it was now. Totality with a capital T. Aloe had given up on checking social media, instead silencing all notifications. He was certain his mother had the virus. He could hear her vomiting in the bathroom connected to her room. She had locked the door and refused to respond. From checking her email, he knew she wasn’t going to work.