Hope Against Hope

Twilight

The next few days pass by in a blur. I quarantine myself in my room in case I start showing symptoms. If I have caught the disease, then I'm more dangerous than the disease itself, which means I could end up hurting Natasha.

We had run out of supplies, and we were too scared to back out there to get the stuff we scavenged from our car. It's probably all been taken by the infected anyway. I've been surviving on a pack of biscuits for the last three days. Sometimes, I feel like I am hallucinating. I hear voices. Lullabies to be precise, and they're creepy. It's weird how it feels like they're coming from outside my room, and not from somewhere inside my head. Maybe that's what the disease wants, it wants me to go outside and check. But I won't. I won't risk it. I wonder how long I can resist, though. How long did it take the man from earlier to completely lose it? Did he lose his conscience too or is he living through that nightmare fully aware of all his actions and incapable of controlling himself. 

§§§

Five days into isolation, I start hearing laughter and whispers. They're all coming from outside my room. I'm beginning to wonder if those sounds are coming from Natasha. There are alarms blaring in my head and I don't know if it's the disease, my intuition, or the fact that my blood sugar's low, but I find myself wanting to leave the room. To investigate, mostly, and maybe find something to eat.

I wait for the perfect moment, when the voices subdue, and creek my door open just enough to get a peak of the world outside. Everything is still. There's no sign of Natasha, no sign of any sort of movement. The windows in the living room are open, as is the balcony door. My blood runs cold, and I start trembling. There's a cool breeze coming in, sweeping the light curtails aside, and I can see the twilight. The sky is engulfed in flames with tufts of pink, purple, and dark inky blue. I can't help but be mesmerized by it, is it really a work of nature or a part of my hallucinations? I doubt my mind could come up with something so terrifyingly beautiful. When humankind deteriorates, nature flourishes, we've seen it happen before during the Covid-19 Pandemic. There was once a time, when at this specific moment, the atmosphere was alive with the call to prayer. When I used to rush to turn on the lights, close all the windows so the cold wouldn't make it in. It's the same moment and the same space, but no warmth, no lights, and no comfort.

I'm so lost in thought I barely hear the footsteps. Natasha steps out of the balcony and looks straight at me with sunken eyes. She's more disheveled than I've ever seen her before. My senses start prickling and I can feel my heart beat in my throat. I just want to run inside and crawl under my blanket, but I stop myself. It's the disease, calm down. She's not a threat. Her posture says otherwise, she looks like a mad woman about to pounce at her prey. But when she speaks, her voice is as warm as ever, 'Elena, what are you doing outside of your room. Are you okay? Are you hurt?'

This is one of those rare moments where she slips into her elder-protective-sister persona, and it feels so homely and normal that I find myself weeping. I get on my feet and start walking towards her, but she backs away. The momentary warmth slips out of my body, and I can imagine it flowing down into a pool of blood-like liquid under my feet. I can't process why I pictured blood, maybe I am going crazy, and Natasha can see it.

'Let's just talk at this distance.' Natasha's stance is the same, she considers me a threat now. If I'm being honest, that's actually smart of her.

'Can I come out now? I don't want to stay alone anymore; I keep hearing voices and it's driving me crazy. I promise I won't hurt you.' Can't get more sus than that, Elena.

'I-it's probably better if you stay inside. T-tell me if you need an-anything.' Natasha stammers, it throws both of us off a bit. I've never seen her stutter before and she's gaping at herself too. She starts shivering and her recoiling into herself, 'Listen, E-Elena, please go back inside. T-that's best for the both of us.'

'Natasha, are you okay? You look sick... do you need my help; you know I'm good with medical stuff.' I sound creepy, even to myself, and Natasha's trembling is getting worse, it looks as if she could collapse at any moment. She's scared of me. Maybe it's best if I remove myself from this situation.

'E-Elena, I'm sor..ry. I don't think I can h-hold on an-anymore.' Natasha says, barely audible and then she collapses. My first instinct is to go by her side immediately, but something stops me. The alarm starts blaring all over again. Run. But I'm frozen. Natasha is still trembling, I'm scared she's dying, but then one of her arms jerks up with a hideous crack. Then one her legs, her spine, and her neck. She's looking straight into my soul and it's-it's not Natasha. It's that man in the car all over again.

I feel nauseous, I can feel my legs giving out under me as Natasha starts getting up on hers. RUN RUN RUN. But I'm paralysed. She opens her mouth and shrieks, and that's what gets me out of my trace. It's the most inhumane sound I've ever heard. I run just as she begins to advance towards me, and shut the door of my room behind me just as she slams into it. 

I lean against it, as if my weight could help hold her back while she repeated slams into it, 'Open the door, you brat! Come out here and pay for what you've done!' 

I caused this? I put my hands against my ears as wet tears start sliding down my face. Yeah, it should've been me, not her. My impulsive actions always brought her pain. 

I begin getting flashbacks of our life, how much she'd sacrificed just so I could move forward. How much she was ridiculed for her failures while i was praised for my success, that were all due to her supporting me from the shadows, the prodigal sibling who moved ahead in life forgetting the sister who made her who she is in the first place. This is my fault. 

I'm so lost in thought that I'm oblivious to the silence, followed by stifled sobs, 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of that. Elena, I'm-I'm not okay, but it's not your fault. I love you. Please open the door.' 

I don't, and the screaming restarts.