The P.O.H.K. Project

        Just two weeks ago, the first person died of the super virus. A man in Germany showed symptoms of the virus (which until that point had been strictly among plants and animals) and died thirty-six hours later. All the doctors were baffled. They had tried everything to save the man, but it was a downhill struggle the minute he reached the hospital.

    Anyway, since it happened, all airports had been shut down, but that didn’t help. Infected people were already in the U.S. The day after the German man died, at least six people were diagnosed here, and the number grows larger every day. So the government ordered a shutdown, which closed all public places until this cooled down. It was only supposed to last three days, but it’s been a week so far. Rations of bread and water, and the little meat and vegetables that could be spared have been given out to prevent hording. On the television, we are constantly reminded to wash our hands, and all surfaces we’ve touched to promote “clean habits.” The reporter announces this like everything is okay, like there’s not a massive pandemic starting.  Mom says it’s a matter of time before panic breaks out.

               “It’s just a safety thing. School will be opened soon enough,” I say in a falsely cheery voice. Even I highly doubt what I’m saying, so it’s not a surprise that Stina looks dubious.

               I rinse the rag, dry it, and set it back on the sink. “Come on Stina, let’s go watch the news.” I say, standing.

She gets up and trots behind me, silently biting her nails. It’s what she does when she’s nervous, and lately she’s always edgy. I don’t yell at her for it though, that’s something mom would do and I don’t want to be like mom. Stina only does it in front of me anyways.

               I turn on the T.V and the six o’clock news flashes to life. At the sound of the noise, dad and mom emerge from the bathroom together, his arm around her. I notice her eyes are red, but I don’t say anything.

               We watch in silence as the newscaster talks about how the virus is spreading, how to protect yourself, and the list of fatalities as of now. In a total, twenty-six died across the world today. That’s five more than yesterday.

               “That brings the total death toll up to two hundred and seventy-eight in these last two weeks,” says the news man solemnly. “This stands to prove how very serious this virus is. We cannot stress enough the importance of washing your hands, cleaning surfaces, and using healthy habits. Again, if anyone shows signs of the virus, which include high fever, red spots on the skin, and vomiting, you are to call your local hospital. Do not stay in the same room as the infected person. This virus is highly contagious.”

               The man stresses the last five words. His eyes are bugged, and he pounds his fist on the table for emphasis.

               The broadcast continues with a list of expected shortages that include fuel, fruits and vegetables, clothing, and many other exported items. He also reminds us to pick up our rations at our local red cross for this month. The broadcast ends, and after that the T.V. goes black. There’s no more regular programming; we’re also on power shortages, and trivial things like cartoons have been shut down.

               Mom sighs deeply and buries her face into dad’s shoulder. He holds her tightly, murmuring comforting things to her. But they don’t notice their youngest daughter sitting at their feet and trembling like a leaf. She’s watching them, waiting for some sort of consoling words from our parents, but they act like she’s not there.

               “Come here Stina,” I say to try and get their attention. She crawls over to me and lays her head in my lap. I stroke her hair, and she closes her eyes like a dog enjoying being scratched. I smile down at her, and then look up to my parents, who still don’t notice us. For some reason, this infuriates me like nothing else.