A speck of dust got caught in Man’s lung and made a home there. This half-alive thing then made itself over and over and over again. No thoughts were spared for the environment in which it chose to exploit. Not until the volume reached capacity, overwhelming and destroying the once verdant fields there.
Tissues rotted away in the aftermath. Blood stopped its flow. Flesh turned cold and dead.
Residency vacated, pack up shop, onto the next. A forced exhalation of breath and new fields are sown only to suffer the same fate as before. Onto the next. Onto the next.
Over 200,000 cases worldwide and counting.
Life is a selfish thing, no matter the iteration. Lest Man forgets who his makers are, Earth can be quick to remind him. A speck of dust is the poison for which Earth can heal.
Planes remain grounded between crossing international borders.
Commerce screeches to a halt.
Consumers shutter in their homes for fear of the invisible enemy.
The coronavirus forces Man to prioritize beating it and so the CO2 levels fall and oceans purify. Cleaner water, clearer air. Beautiful days host choirs of birds and troupes of various fauna. Unhindered and at peace, life forgets all about the woes of Man. The pandemic is a holiday.
One with many ends.
Skarface 