In Times of Corona

- Box in the Attic -

  Frustrated, she rummaged through the dusty old boxes in the attic. Obviously, this place hadn't been cleaned since forever and her mother kept hoarding things or memories as she would say which undoubtedly added to the dwelling city of spiders and other tiny living organisms. Some flew upwards to the ceiling - sky of their dust-land - as this beautiful giant approached them rather cautiously. Some hid inside the holes they had created for an emergency. Others flew away. A moth collided with the light bulb's hot crystal surface and burnt it's fragile wings and spiraled down to their dust land floor. She, while being cautious stepped onto the dying creature and ended his sparse life with-in seconds. As if the cobwebs and moths weren't enough cockroaches decided to creep her out a bit more. A flying cockroach buzzing through the scanty but dusty air landed onto her head. A shrill ear-piercing scream escaped her mouth as she stumbled on the old boxes covered with a thick layer of dust while trying to hit the little bastards. However, with an epic fail crashed into one followed by the articles of the box being hurled out roughly onto the floor with boxes falling with a loud thud. 

Those seemed like some old artifacts. An old box with old writing caught her eye. Embedded into the heart of the box was a heart-shaped crystal. What an exotic thing, she thought. Carefully she collected the articles of the box from the floor and put them back where they belonged. She kept the mysterious exotic one though. She shared her mother's love for antiques. 

She climbed down the ladder down into her small room with barely any furniture. Being an artist she needed a bigger room to make her little studio. Her little room could either be decorated with furniture or her art stuff and the piled-up canvases. The room painted in black and blue was a little too small for that. But it served her purpose.  Midnight blue curtains kept the heat and light out from her little kingdom of turpentine, charcoals, acrylics, and oils. One could see posters of 80's rock legends on walls.  There was a mahogany dressing table which she bought from the furniture sale next door when the old woman with a sausage dog finally died.

Being 25 and struggling with life just like any other annoyed and sulking adult she preferred to keep to herself mostly with only a few friends to hang out with. Growing up does that to you. You want what is honest and real. One good friend for secret sharing and squealing over good news was enough for her. Malia and she were inseparable since the first grade when the fat kid Noel ate Malia's lunch and she and Malia beat the shit out of him together. Malia was also, the only one who read her blog on a daily basis. And she was there when her father divorced her mother. Or when she needed to stay away from her abusive father. Or when her mother fell ill. And when she left the world. She had been there for her through thick and thin. Malia had even offered to pay her university fee albeit, as arrogant as she was she had refused. 

Aiza returned to her room with the dusty old box. There was something mysterious about the box. She felt a weird pull.  

Little did she know it was about to get a different level of cool and eerie.