The First Three (La Fin)

March 10, 2020

This next first chapter is something I wrote recently in the wake of the discovery of Covid-19. I had a lot of fun writing this, maybe because I have a sick obsession with diseases, death, and well, anything about mortality. But yeah! Here are we.  There is more after this, but again I'm only sharing the first chapters of all of these novels. 

La Fin - Chapter One 


The world didn't end in a day. The romantic notion of the apocalypse never happened like the movies, the books, or the experts said. It happened slowly, like waking up from a nap. One day, we knew it was here as a paper cut, and then the next moment we're cut wide open bleeding from a gash six inches across. The world was dying, and there was nothing we could do about it. 


The virus, Covid-19, quickly became a mouthful as the news started to cover it. So I changed it to Ovid. It seemed fitting given the metamorphosis that took place across the world with its birth. From conception in China, Ovid made it's way across the world like a baby grows in a womb, within nine months. 


The moment I found out about it was the same moment I knew it was over.

My fiance, Will, and I were texting each other.


W: Did you see the news about that new virus? The one wreaking havoc in China? They say it's not that bad, but who is to say. Their numbers could be skewed.

M: Yes! I'm so excited. I love a good plague.

W: Wow. I'm marrying a madwoman!

M: Are you just now figuring this out?

W: Nah. I knew what I was getting into the first night I met you.


The texts we shared were innocent—jokes about the never-ending impending doom that didn't seem to want to climax in our lifetime. Then mother nature gave us a wink and blew us a kiss with not only Ovid but terrible flu. Together, we didn't stand a chance.  


The remainder of our time slowly faded away like the sinking of the sun. Until eventually, the only color to remain after Will's passing was the stark blue of fading daylight. A somewhat light color given any other circumstance. 


Now, the days pass without the concept of time, as the world continues to hold its breath. I sit alone, at my house with Moris, my cat. Everyone else I knew is dead. The only reminder of them is the quiet agony of sorrow that picks away at me.  


Eventually, I will die. It's only a matter of time. But until that happens, until mother nature finally smothers me to sleep by taking each fresh breath left in my lungs, I will write my story with the contemplative eyes of Moris watching me. 


I will write about how the world ended.


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K. J. Rocazella

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