Pandemic

Death. A fairly negative word at the first glance. Maybe even at the second glance. Or the third glance for that matter. An evil word. Preposterous to even come to your mouth. Sinful to the thought; Ungodly to speak.

A matter not to be thought about.

Recently, I have been thinking about it a lot. Not in sad, suicidal way. No. But in a the-world-might-just-end way. Maybe it’s all those dystopian novels speaking; those mounds of books my mind consumed one after the other. Maybe it’s the gut feeling. But I have been thinking a lot.

You know how you imagine what would happen if you ceased to exist one day. Just out of the blue stopped being. People would miss you, you’d have eulogies written, family crying, friends miserable. But what would happen if everyone ceased existing. In such a rapid chain reaction that no one had the time to be sad, to let oneself go.

If everything did end, would it be like all those movies, all those books, all those stories? Would it make a difference who survived when all else was lost?

Fools believe that the world would end. Fools believe that almost everyone could cease to exist at the same time. Fools who see, who observe, who understand.

Maybe it’s the paranoia talking. The paranoia of losing everything before it was even built. The paranoia of seeing history being made, maybe its bleakest segments. That is if anyone survives. We do need hands to write that history afterall.

An irrational, persistent fear; isn’t that what paranoia is. So yes, I hope, it is the paranoia talking.

I hope it is history in making. The history of how the world survived this. The history of how human race persisted. The history of how we did not cease to exist.