Our World is not Normal
The universe blows smoke rings that encircle the earth until they blanket the planet in low-lying fog. Rolling through ruins, snaking along streets, drifting down passageways, it permeates nearly every portion of our world.
Our world is not airtight.
The public parks and pubs are closed. A law was enacted forcing us to stay indoors to avoid injuries, as we can’t see past the ends of our fingertips in the haze. We shut ourselves in. Smoke sneaks into our markets and fondles our food and winds through our workplaces, disrupting production. But when it forces its way into our homes, we grow angry.
Our world is not secure.
Where did this fog come from? Who would wish this on us? We speak with our chancellors, dukes, and sultans. Seek counsel from shamans, high priests, and scribes—Arch, Grand, Crestfallen, Holy, Royal, and Divine. Confer with philosophers, teachers, warriors, scouts, and watchmen.
When our queries result in only more questions, we go our separate ways. We hope one of our scientists, researchers, or mathematicians will find a solution.
Our world is confusing
They close our schools. They close our restaurants. We devour books, take online classes, zoom into the homes of family and friends. We work from home. It’s a tedious time, surrounded by silence. Our social life is reduced to screens. Pressured to choose between cooking and starvation, we learn new skills. We put on pounds and work them off. We purchase puppies or kittens and post videos of them doing adorable things. We meditate.
The haze grows thicker. We miss planting and watering and toiling in the soil of our gardens. There are rumors of ‘removal efforts’ taking place in various counties and countries, but we begin to accept that we have no place to go.
Our world is inconsistent
Time ticks slower. Our heartbeats decrease and the digits on our Fitbits follow. We feel less stressed. We take less medication. We are feeling better than we have for a long time. But only in our bubbles. Only in our homes. Our televisions spew actualities and assumptions in equal enough proportions to keep us in constant flux. Relief efforts are bandied about—giant fans or vacuums the most popular. But what if there is no end to the fog? What if we suck and suck or blow and blow and the smoke never clears? How long will we keep trying?
Our world is divided
We begin losing people in peculiar ways. Some grow paler, more transparent, their skin stretching and thinning until their motives and intentions spill out on the ground and dissipate into the mist. Some disparage the counsel and denounce the fog, demanding their rights. Others find themselves trapped in the web of professed power spun by those who have taken an oath to protect.
Most become faceless figures, a few make international news, but all perish. We imagine we can still see their faces in the millions of minuscule water droplets that cling to our window glass.
Our world is full of grief
We become restless, fearful, unhinged, in said order. Our righteous resentment and sorrow pilot our purpose. We are dedicated, we are resilient, we are unified. We make our voices heard.
We grow careless.
The smoke gains potency and proliferates. Our losses grow, tripling, quadrupling. We double-down our efforts and seal ourselves inside. We aim blow dryers and flap t-shirts and wave our hands until we’ve cleared most of the haze from our kitchens, living rooms, and bedrooms. We cover our vents. We turn off our heaters and air-conditioners and tape over our doorways and windowsills.
Our world is suffocating
We clean out closets and discard our detritus. We build, tear down, and rearrange our lives until they are unrecognizable to our former selves. We are no longer normal.
We begin to fret. We flick our fidget spinners, and ask our magic 8-balls, Is this the new normal? We rave and rant. We pray and supplicate.
We assume our answer comes in the form of precipitation.
We wish we could strip the seals from our doors and windows and run out into the rain, letting the coolness refresh our spirits, certain in our belief it will wash the smoke from our world. But each tiny water droplet screams for retribution, vengeance, blasts our ears with supplications. The faces of the innocent stare back in judgment. We retreat to our bubbles, wondering if it’s only a matter of time before our voices fade to silence and our faces become reflections in the fog.
Our world is broken