It is Day 20 of the lockdown, and I have finally got myself around to writing again. Why not sooner, one might ask, and I would have no good response for it. Perhaps it was a case of being afraid to start off on the wrong foot – once you spend so much time away from your writing pad, it becomes all the more daunting to get back. What if you come out of your self-imposed writing hibernation and you write about something stupid? What if words don’t flow the same way they used to? What if you had turned into a terrible writer during the downtime? Such were the fears that plagued me alongside my blatant laziness and tendency to procrastinate. But, at last, I have seemingly overcome that first hurdle, and I decided to write about whatever entered my head – with no expectation of quality, captivating, or hell, even sensible content.

When it comes to topics to write or, for that matter, think about, there is nothing more relevant than the ongoing worldwide phenomenon. These are the days of Covid-19, and unlike its predecessors like SARS and H1N1, this one has turned into a pandemic, prompting countries to quarantine people, lock down their economies and obsess over their medical facilities. Most of the world, being born in peaceful times, has seen nothing like this. For those old enough to remember it, these times feel akin to those world-wide wars of the 1900s. The common populace does not know how to react or behave in this new reality.

Trust in media had already been at an all-time low, I am quite sure. The last thing the world needed was a pandemic, where it is of utmost importance to inform people of what to do and what not to do. Anyone could have seen the avalanche of fake videos and articles incoming. Such is the norm that people seemingly take joy in messing with others’ well-being in these times of need. I assume there is some monetary benefit in doing this – either way, it is just a sad state of society we find ourselves in.

He heard a drip. In the cold, stinging silence, it was almost a welcome sign of life. The overwhelming fear of stagnation had not yet sunk in. Not completely sunk in yet. The warm drafts of breeze occasionally brought hope with them. But more often than not, they were diluted by the still, damp air that hung heavily all around. He was sure she had heard it too. In the lull, the sound of the droplet crashing into water would have carried for miles. But then she made no gesture to suggest that she had. She stood silent, and let the harmonies ripple though his mind alone. The human mind is funny, it can choose not to see or hear or believe what it doesn’t wish to. His mind chose to hear, hers didn’t wish to believe.

The roof? Oh you couldn’t see the roof. However you would always get the feeling that there was something overhead. He kept glancing upwards at where he thought the roof was. He was not really sure why; he had no fear of confined spaces. She stood silent and felt the water gently ripple against her legs. She didn’t glance in the same direction as he, not because she couldn’t but because she didn’t want to. If there was something sheltering them, so be it; it was doing a pretty bad job of sheltering her. Her flowing black hair hid her face.

There was no much to see but darkness. From where he stood, he could make out her outline away to his left. Not too far. Hard to say for sure though, it was way too dark. She knew that she was just out of arm’s reach. A woman’s instinct.

The water was barely ankle-deep but it was freezing cold. He occasionally would lift his foot out of it to stop himself from freezing stiff. It is very easy to merely surrender and give in to the inviting numbness. She wasn’t going numb. But she stood still. Time and time again he tried to get her to let her feet out of the water for a while – allow for the freedom that comes with warmth. Offered to carry her a while just to keep her precious legs away from the dread that lay at their feet. She wasn’t the sort, of course. She’d rather stand. Rather fight the cold.

It is a sickening feeling to admit one is lost. He could not bring himself to say it. She knew. He offered to lead her home again. What more could he do? But then she didn’t know where she had come from. She didn’t remember. From where she came, the meadows were plush with the greenest of grass. The skies never turned into a darker hue of blue. She remembered the place. She was happy there. She just didn’t know how to get back.

It was a long road back for him as well. But then, was there any use going ahead? There was no saying when they would see the light of day again. There was no saying if they would see it at all. Something rubbed against his leg; he bent to pick it up. In the feeble light he could make out a strand of grass. It was long, slender and green even in the pitchest of blacks that surrounded him. It must have been quite a sight to see a meadow full of them. Along with the skies that never turned a darker hue of blue.

He looked around at her again and held his hand out. She was just out of arm’s reach. Silent. Still. He couldn’t see whether she raised her hand to meet his. His eyes chose to hear the water that dripped once again.

PS : This is not an adventure story. Rather, one about a relationship.

“Did you not like the coffee? Wait, I’ll make you a fresh one,” cooed the Coffeematic-2000. Like it cared, thought Nelson. He watched the Silver-Brown machine pour out another cup of the steaming liquid. The cup was picked up carefully, its contents meticulously emptied into the nearby flowerpot and the cup itself thrown into the recycler. The sensors on the Coffeematic-2000 blipped once more and the machine sang, “Did you not like the coffee? Wait, I’ll make you a fresh one.” Nelson cursed himself for having wasted 200 credits on this chunk of metal. He wished he had bought the Acme Automatic Puppy instead. It would have at least fetched him his newspaper everyday.

Nelson would tell anyone who bothered to listen he was not a hermit. He simply stayed alone and loved his solitude more than his life. The only sign of his creative potential was the deep red board hanging on his door that read “Don’t knock.” For anyone who wishes to know, Nelson was 5’8’’, aged 52 and unshaven. His house was a run-down bungalow that almost seemed out of place in the sprawling metropolis. He had no neighbors; they had all left.

As a matter of fact, Nelson was the only living soul remaining in the Gamma quadrant of the city. He, of course, was least perturbed by it. He had his peace, his solitude and his T.V. (although he did regularly complain about the lack of interesting programmes to watch). Nonetheless, he was living the life of his dreams.

The T.V. turned itself in time for the evening news (not that there was much of it). A ruffled looking reporter read out the headlines. Quite clearly, he had been thrown in front of the camera against his wishes. Also quite clear was that he was not a professional reporter. The T.V. stations these days had to cope with a severe lack of staff. “The Exodar has landed on the earth again”, he said hastily. “Officials say this should be its last trip to Vesuvius. All remaining inhabitants of the Earth are ordered to board the ship within two days of today.” Nelson frowned at the reporter who was now gathering up his papers and cramming them into an out-of-sight briefcase. He turned off the T.V. just as a bunch of kids appeared on the screen advertising the latest Acme Gaming Console. “Great entertainment on the way to Vesuvius,” they chanted. “Asses,” Nelson muttered under his breath. He cursed again as there was a resounding knock at the door. “Can’t you see the sign?!” he shouted at his visitor beyond the door before getting up to answer it.

“Ah,” said Nelson as a way of greeting as he held the door ajar. “I should have known.” The unblinking, glassy eyes of a Robotron-4 stared back at him. Nelson was not at all impressed. “Didn’t your maker teach you how to read?!” He waved a furious fist at the unflinching robot.

“I am here to escort you to the Exodar,” said a pre-recorded voice. Nelson always felt these robots to be somewhat unrealistic. Their voice seemed to crackle out from somewhere near their chests. Talk about them resembling human beings. The designers had, no doubt, paid no attention to detail. Nelson waited to see if it had anything else to say. When he was sure that the robot had run out of words, he leant towards the robot till he could see his face reflected in its eyes. “I-am-not-coming,” he said clearly and precisely, “to-that-stupid-planet-of-yours.” That done, he retreated back into his home, feeling rather pleased with himself. “Please, allow me to carry your luggage,” he heard the robot say to no one in particular as he closed his door behind him.

The customary alarm woke Nelson up the next morning. He drew apart his curtains to let in the precious little light there was. It had been nearly 20 years since the sun had shone bright enough to wake a sleeping soul. Even today, Nelson observed, it was shrouded behind rust-colored clouds. Before they had left for Vesuvius, scientists had analyzed samples of these and found them to be a concoction of sulphur and nitrogen oxides among metallic compounds. The last edition of the Scientific Weekly reported, “… Inhaling a portion of these deadly clouds may result in hallucinations. Long term exposure contact with them is carcinogenic… and they smell like strong filtered coffee…” Another extract from the same journal said, “… As per reports and data, the oxygen in the Earth’s atmosphere, among many other resources, can only sustain life at its present scale for a few years. The Scientific Society recommends that all of mankind be shifted to a different life-supporting planet as soon as possible …”

Nelson, of course, had read neither of the extracts. All he knew was that the rusty clouds had been spewed out by factories and that everybody was being hauled off to the planet Vesuvius. He yawned lazily and headed for the door in anticipation of an awaiting newspaper. Much of the service infrastructure on Earth was still intact courtesy heavy automation. Power plants, dairy farms and the water supply were run by Robotrons – the line of efficient, programmable robots by Acme Corporation. It was these Robotrons that Nelson despised and that supplied him with newspapers.

However, this morning, Nelson was greeted, not merely by a newspaper but by a Robotron standing over it. “Vesuvius is an exciting planet full of opportunities. Please, allow me to carry your luggage,” it said without being prompted.

Nelson frowned at the stupid machine. “Have you been standing here all this while?” The robot merely stared back at him. Nelson shrugged, picked up his newspaper and headed back into the comforts of his home. The windmill visible outside his window rotated uselessly. It was surrounded by equally, if not more, useless solar panels. These had been installed by man in a feeble attempt to harness so-called ‘renewable’ energy. They had far from satisfied the ever-growing need for power. Ultimately, man had to fall back on nuclear power again.

Time until lunch passed by peacefully except for the odd muffled sounds of “Please, allow me to carry your luggage”. Then there was a smart rap on the door. Nelson groaned aloud. He pulled himself off his armchair and trudged to the door. He might have been mildly surprised to see a human standing at his doorstep, but did not bother to show it. “Didn’t your maker teach you how to read?!” he yelled.

The human was a young man who looked like an official of some sort. You can always tell by the way they dress and their posture when they stand. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said crisply.

 Nelson was thoroughly unimpressed. “What do you want?”

“The Robotron was meant to escort you to the Exodar. It hadn’t returned yet, so I came down to check. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything is just fine. Have a good day.” Nelson proceeded to close the door.

“But sir,” said the young man’s voice before he could do so. “You have been ordered to board the Exodar.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“You will be left here, sir.”

“Good. Please do that. Leave me alone.”

“But sir, you will die here. There are only enough resources here to support mankind for 2 years.”

“That would be the case if all of mankind were here. But they have all left, you see. How long do you tink it will support me alone?”

The young man pondered for a moment. “You do have a point, sir.”

“Don’t I? And you want me to leave this paradise and head to your blasted planet?”

The young man was as bewildered as the Robotron beside him. Nelson grinned to himself; his little piece of success.

“What are those stupid houses that you are making them live in?” asked Nelson to kill the silence.

“Those are the latest Acme HomeBase, sir” the young man replied with a sense of pride. Nelson, for the first time, noticed the bronze plaque on his shirt that read ‘ACME’. “They are made entirely of Styrofoam and rubber.”

Nelson gave him a quizzical look. “Eh? What for?”

“That is for the earthquakes, sir. The Acme HomeBase shall never break, never collapse and never injure anyone.”

“Earthquakes you say?”

“Yes sir. There are about twenty of them everyday on the planer. That is why they call it the Vesuvius…” The young man heard his own voice trail away.

Nelson grinned broadly at the man, who was now staring up at the sky. A moment’s awkward silence later, Nelson broke the ice. “Well, I guess that is that. Have a nice trip to Vesuvius. And please, don’t write to me.”

“Err, sir… “, began the young man hesitantly as Nelson tried to close the door on him. “I am sure your place would have room for one more.”

Nelson’s voice was heard through the small crack left in the doorway. “Never is and never will be. And do take your doll back with you when you leave.”