Quarantine

Sentinels line side by side, cold and unyielding to the onslaught of the frenzied mob. Blinding lights illuminate the the avenue for miles, making everything pasty white and oddly surreal. I look at my hand and it doesn’t look like my own but of someone older, with deep folds and translucent skin. I cling onto the metal fence yelling, “LET US PASS!” I don’t even get a glace. My voice is drowned out by the thousands of voices yearning for passage, for remorse, for compassion. Gunfire goes off into the air as a uniformed officer takes to the center of the barricade. He yells over a megaphone, “By order of the government, this city is under quarantine and there will be no unauthorized movement in or out of the city. Please return to your homes or you will be forcefully removed. A citywide curfew is issued, to begin at 8:00pm tonight. Trespassers will be dealt with swiftly and forcefully. Good night.”
The crowd bursts out in rage, throwing fists into the air and insults off their lips. Some begin to climb the tall metal fences as it becomes electrified and fall ten feet to the crowd below. Only inches away, I can hear the faint humming of the fence. I stretch out my arms and push the crowd back, I glance behind my shoulder expecting to see Mary and look into the wide eyes of an older man.
“Back! Back!” I yell, “It’s electrified!”
The crowd stumbles backward onto each other, some falling to their knees in the confusion, only to get buried under the feet of the masses.The screams are terrible and soul wrenching, only becoming louder as clouds of malicious smoke emerge from thrown canisters. The insidious poison fills my lungs and burns my insides. I gasp for air but feel only pain. All around me an ocean of bodies swell and collide, erupting in ice cold screams. My legs give out as I trample over the belly of a mangled corpse. Through a sodden blur I look to her face and see Mary’s eyes-- but it’s not Mary.

A hard blow hits my ribs and am knocked down to the ground. Blood both wet and sticky stains my face. I do not know if it is mine. Through wisps of smoke I see a baton coming down on me with reckless fury. I clench my muscles uselessly as it makes contact with my hip. Jarring pain blinds me as I tear into the cool earth and hurl it at my attacker. I scamper to my feet making my way through the horde.

Screams echo through the streets as smoke and light give rise to the ghoulish and severe. Dark figures impale the fleeing crowd --an image morphing into the bizarre and fictitious with the blood of the old and young gathering in shallow pools.

I take to the side street shadows that soon blend into nightfall, the city’s banter seaming almost normal. I pass many faces though none familiar. Still unsure, under my breathe I ask, “Mary, is that you?” They think me a threat and flee. I watch their movements, searching for her light gait.

I come upon a bucket of water, clear enough to clean my wounds. I look to my hands and they do not look like my own. They were not the strong hard hands Mary would kiss under the giant willow. Delicate and old they had become. Into the bucket I stare and see the old man from the mob with wide eyes.

Remembering once again Mary had passed long ago, I make my way back to the well lit avenue, not wanting to be alone.