Dearest Corona Virus,
I hope this letter finds you, I hope it comes in your sickly hands which have plagued thousands.
I should hate you for what you've done, for how many you've taken...
I should curse your name for locking me here, for forcing me to stay inside when all I want is to feel, to breathe, to see the outside.
I should scream at you for leaving my mother and many others unemployed.
I should despise you for canceling my school and refusing to let me see my friends and my elderly loved ones.
But I will do none!
You may have robbed me and everyone from many things...But let me tell you this, you will not defeat us and you know why? Because we will always find the light.
May the 28th was my birthday, I cried the whole night knowing all I'll do is stay at home without seeing my friends or doing anything. It was...
It's dark down here. I can hardly breathe through the ashes of smoke. But I do not dare cough. Rule 987 of the rule book. Coughing is a sign of illness. Illness counts as weakness and everyone knows what happens to people that are weak. The lights suddenly turn on. Gasping, I wake up from my chair. "Congratulations Clara, on making it through your 14th round of the testing." Though I'm bursting with joy on the inside I can not let that show. Happiness is a sign of weakness. Getting off the white doctor looking chair, I feel dizzy from the simulation, but I do not show it, I get out of the room and then I run.
Running is a sign of untidiness which is forbidden by rule 82, but when I run I feel free. The wind whips in my face as I invite the burning sensation of my bones aching. Making sure to stay hidden, I finally...