The Dystopian of Plague and Truth
Fragility within the foundation of trust vs reality
Weightlessly I’m freefalling, hardly able to identify my surrounding, its walls ablur. My hands reaching the farthest extremity hoping to grab a stronghold to stop the fall. Heart racing, I open my eyes to recognize I’m lying in my bed. The freefall, my fears from the chillingly stark reality of this moment.
Slowly I open my blinds and peek outside. Early morning, fall, in middle-class America. The invisible haze of loathsomeness, as the plague hangs low, a fog of war. Every human, we suspect, a carrier of the pathogen.
Firmly I verify the adhesion of the duct tape on the window, attempting an airtight seal. Do I have enough houseplants to create the required oxygen to ensure my survival? My hoard of food and paper goods rapidly decreasing. According to my charted course, I’ll likely die of starvation if the brown box man stops coming.
My avoidance of electronics, my isolation from the outside world prove difficult as I’m required to login as I work from home, do my shopping, and interact socially. The propaganda of the fake news, lies that become fact as our corrupted media redacts the truth.
Manipulated fragments of reality, strategically assembled into dissolvable morsels of newspeak. Pestering disinformation shared by our…
