My Future, Our Future

Author’s Note: HEEEEYYY I’m back! Sorry, I was working on my projects before. This is me getting back into things, this is pretty mediocre on my part. OK, hope you enjoy. 

My Future, Our Future 

A Dystopian Short Story by Ana Govindasamy 

Trigger Warnings/ Disclaimers: Coronavirus, Death and Bereavement Themes  

My breath comes out, visible in the January darkness. 

Giving me away. 

I hook my mask back onto my face. I don’t care. Don’t care about the dirt caked into its stitches. Don’t care about the rain pouring down on my already weak body. There are only three things that matter right now. 

The road. 

Those sirens. 

And me. 

2032. The pandemic, the Covid-19 one. There’s been so many mutations, too many mutations. We looked to the future yesterday. We’d tell our kids about this. It was going to be history. Well, it’s the present now too. Too many mutations. Kill the mutations.  

Kill the infected. 

Kill me.  

So, I run. I run from the sirens, I run from the guns, I run from my death. I’ve gotten the newest strain. The one no one is going to bother coming up with a a vaccine for.  

I know where I’m headed. If I can reach the border I can get to the next country. They never signed the agreement. No-one in the East did.  

Border. 

I have my passport. Or I hope I do. 

My breath was lost miles ago. The world spins beneath me as thoughts cloud my mind. I think I’m stopping because of it. But I can’t. 

Can’t stop. 

Can’t slow. 

I struggle to breathe now, and not just because of the miles I’ve ran. I’m nearing the border now, and I know it. I’m on the motorway, and cars are lined up, inches away from touching. So many have tried to get to the East. So many still try. But I need this. Even while fumes clog my lungs. It’s making me almost lightheaded.  

I can’t feel. 

My head is pounding. 

I can’t go on. 

So I don’t.  

Moonlit lake. Swans drifting upon it. Reeds and marsh perfectly trimmed. Then I see Alex. No mask. I don’t have one either. Just me, and a stunning apparition of my true love. I extend my hand. Our fingers brush, cold silver glow against warm skin. A swarm of images flood my mind.  

A world without the sickness. A world without the suffering. We have a home. Children, even. Two sons, though the eldest looks much more like Alex than he does me. It’s world where we’re happy. 

No death. 

No illness.  

And I wish I could say the same for me. 

Because I don’t wake up.