The Virus

Pranjal Velani

Delhi, India

The Virus had spread all over the world. No human race was exempt from it. It did not differentiate and
discriminate. It was sometimes vicious, terrorizing people left and right. All the while making a pomp
and show of itself. It had no eyes. It did not look before consuming you.
It had me quarantined in there. Deep inside, not so that no one else could get affected but so that no
one could see that I had it. So, no one could jeer at me and call out on me. So, that no one could kick me
because it had spread over. This has made the whole world a prisoner. I keep repeating the day over and
over again. Just a peek outside and I’m back in and under.
Everybody seems to want it contained. It must not spread; you understand and it must never ever show!
But this, this makes me do strange things. It makes me angry, so angry that it’s sick. It makes me want to
hit someone. I want to see the blood. I’m pleased with myself. And then, it makes me cry like a baby, go
mad with emptiness. It makes me lonely, separates me. An observant eye may notice it, I’m afraid.
I want it to let me loose. I’m tired; of me being inside because of it for so long. I’m scared it will soil me
completely. It also makes me doubt myself once in a while. It connects me to people sometimes. I’m
surprised when I see people with even worse conditions than mine. I secretly feel happy. People pity me
a lot of times. They say it’s eaten you. I don’t like it, makes me want to throw up.
I try to get rid of it, I find ways and tricks but it never seems to work. I may die from it this time. I don’t
want to. It pulls me inside, further away from people, sanity and all that is worthwhile.
It’s hate. I hate it.