A String of Blues ✓

12 | a tale that hurts

prompt 12: a tale that hurts
word count: 1100
prompt cue: Narrate to your unborn child (or the child of a friend) what COVID-19 was like for YOU.

The twins greeted her with smiles that could make dragons breath tears instead of fire.

"Awake past bedtime," she drawled, leaning against the doorway; "What a surprise."

"We want a story," said the girl.

"Of a kingdom ravaged by horror," the boy continued.

She crossed her arms and raised a brow, "Ravaged?"

"Sarah says that means hurt." The boy replied. Then leaning forward, he whispered; "But Mama, we have rules."

"Ah, rules," she said, walking into the room. She adjusted the brightness of their nightlight and went to the dark blue rocking chair her children had so fondly called Story Chair. Sitting down, she crossed her legs and let the gentle rock that had been set in motion soothe her. It had been a long day at the university. And—as usual—she had to shower and immediately throw her clothes in the wash. It was a miracle she was still awake. "And what, Sameer, are these rules?"

"First of all," he said, a solemn look creasing his young features; "It has to end happy."

"But also, sad," Sarah chimed in; "Secondly, it has to be gory."

"But not too gory," Sameer countered. "Finally, it has to be real."

"The kind of real that hurts." Sarah finished.

She raised a brow, "Is that all?"

The twins narrowed their eyes and frowned; looking just like their father when he was annoyed.

This was their nightly ritual. They told her what they were in the mood for and then she made up a story that would entertain them.

But the past few weeks, it had been different. Or had this been a long time coming? They were asking for more realistic stories; tired of all the princess in pretty—but functional—armors, the dragons that were freed from their oppressive roles, of all the happy endings. They wanted radical, scary, painful stories. Especially Sarah. Sarah was growing up very fast.

Too fast, she thought.

She gazed at the twins, remembering their infancy. Sameer would screw up his little wrinkly face and bawl his eyes out every twenty minutes; while Sarah would stare at him with a raised brow. As toddlers, Sameer had walked before Sarah. Sarah had spoken before Sameer. Sarah read like an addict—just like her mother, while Sameer couldn't sit still for more than a minute—also like his mother. While their features mirrored their father, their hearts reflected hers.

Real. Her mind caught on something not too long ago. She'd have to layer the imagery pretty thick; but it would make an interesting diversion. She pushed up her glasses and smiled; "Alright, then. Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away was a Queen—"

The girl interrupted her; "Mama, we are bored sick of once upon a times and kingdoms far away."

"That's right, we are." The boy echoed. "We want stories of kingdoms close by."

She sighed; "Alright." She settled back into the rocking chair. "Once—oh right, sorry. In the year 2020, in a kingdom quite close by, lived a young girl with nondescript features and a black hole for a mind. She lived with her family, and studied literature at a private university. Her life was not at all interesting—quite boring actually."

"I'm bored." Sarah interrupted.

"When do we get to the good part?" Sameer asked.

"And then—" she widened her eyes and waved her hands about; "—disaster struck!"

The twins quieted.

"There had been news, you see. Rumors actually, of a disease spreading across the seas—a disease that was said to be extremely infectious."

"What does infectious mean?" Sameer asked.

"It means if I'm sick, you'll get sick too—very fast.", she said. "Now, don't interrupt me. So, it was the last day of the national holiday and Hishma—the young girl, was averse to going back as all of her age were."

"Hey, that's you!" Sameer cried. Sarah only slanted her head to the side; curious.

She gave him a look. He quietened. "And that very night, the kingdom officials declared a two-week holiday for all schools and universities. Everyone rejoiced. And she jumped for joy when they declared it to be extended to four. A month of no school? What fun! But then the fun was over, and the holidays became confining. No one was allowed to go out of their houses unless it was necessary. People couldn't go to work, people were scared. She was scared."

"Why was she scared?" Sarah asked.

"Because this illness—it crept up on people. No one would know if they were infected. For days, they could be sick and not know. And since it was infectious—it could travel from person to person and no one could know how. For you see, the virus wasn't like other viruses—he didn't want to kill people. He just wanted to live on them; use them until they were so drained—so parched—they could no longer fight back. Slowly, their lungs filled and their coughs got worse; until finally they would collapse because they couldn't breathe.

"Paranoia spread. All over the world, kingdoms locked down. Hishma and her family stayed inside. Everything went online; school, university, even grocery shopping. Every time her father brought anything home, they had to sanitize everything, when she left her house, she had to wear a mask and gloves. Fear and loneliness had enveloped her in a depressive embrace. She no longer saw her friends, and even when she eventually did, she couldn't hug them or kiss them—you see, human contact is very important. That's why I hug you and kiss you so much." She got up and gave them both a hug and a kiss before returning to Story Chair. "What frightened her most was that despite everything, people kept getting sick. In seven months seventeen million people had gotten sick. And six hundred thousand were dead."

Harsh breaths filled the air. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But the twins didn't look terrified, so she trudged on; "Now, she understood actual boredom. She yearned for the days before the pandemic when she went out and actually did things. But she kept herself occupied—she read a whole lot. One day late at night her mother called her to the balcony. So, she got up and went outside—where she could see the deserted streets and the darkened alleyways. But then, she heard it. Shouts of "Allahu Akbar" echoing through the night sky. Buildings as far as she could see, children popping their heads out of the windows and hollering in tone. The sky was filled with praise; and her heart with love. That was when she realized, that eventually everything would be okay. Yes, they would suffer, they would cry. But upstairs, someone heard them. And at ground-level there were people who cared. Because in a crisis, people came together. Hope coursed through her veins, and loneliness was vanquished."

"Did they find the cure?" the twins asked.

She grinned; "What do you think?"

***

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