Trust your story...

I read a passing meme or post or something on social media recently that in this unprecedented time in our history, it would be good to write about our experiences.

I don't know why, but this has been on my mind since. So, I thought, why not? Let me use this as inspiration and see what comes out of my head.

Trust the story... here we go.

Reaper

Why did I think that when the apocalypse came, there would be sirens blaring, fires blazing, and people screaming through the streets? Instead, what came was silence and isolation.  I'm one of the "fortunate" ones considered "essential." I can go out of my house and go to work.

I drive on the streets and freeways and unconsciously speed my way to where ever I need to be. I'm normally not a fast driver. I yield to faster cars and keep to the slow lane. But, right now, there is no one to pace on the street. I try not to think about things too much, but when you're the only one crossing a normally busy intersection to get to your building, dark thoughts begin to lurk.

I find myself hurrying.

The homeless man in the ratty hood that I see everyday, that I know to be harmless, suddenly starts to look like a reaper coming out of the shadows. He's not holding his scythe. He's carrying it in a cart, filled with the souls he's already collected. He's busy and more are dying by the day. In my gloom, he seems filled with purpose. A gleam shines from eyes covered beneath the dark hood. He turns to me, bows his head, and moves on.

I hold my breath as I turn to look back. He disappears as if he was never there. I

run to my building, unsure if my mind was playing tricks on me. I shake it off, happy to see the smiling faces of the security guards at the Front Desk. "Hey there!" they waved.

I notice the clock on the wall. The second hand jerked repeatedly unable to move past the number 3. Odd, I thought. That clock always worked smoothly. It was a focal point in the marble clad lobby of the traditional building I work in. I greet the guards with a smile and rush to my office. I shouldn't be late, but I was. How?

I stumble into my cube and fall into my chair. I swallow hard, feeling an ache and unease in my chest. Cold sweat begins at my nape and butterflies threaten to dislodge in my gut. Panic overcomes me, and I'm unable to catch my breath. I'm gasping and my labored puffs turn to clouds of frost -- precious air escaping from my mouth.

I look up. Unwilling, but made to by some force.

Gleaming eyes shining from beneath a dark, tattered, hooded robe focus on me. The smell of rot and decay overwhelm me as the specter comes closer.  I'm paralyzed. I can't move. Can't scream. Can't cry.  In my mind, I knew what should happen next, but my heart was not accepting it.

I was not gonna die. Not right then. Not like that. "Social Distance!" I screamed and laughed at the same time. Did I just really tell the Grim Reaper to stay away 6 feet?

Insanity. That was the explanation. It had to be. Because this really couldn't be happening.