Charles sits ponderously in his high backed, beige, faux leather arm chair. Across a messy, coffee stained table in a corner of St Helens Nursing Home resides Jim. Jim, once a member of the emergency services, now cuts a bent over, slack jawed frail figure in an identical high backed arm chair. A large flat screen TV housed on the middle of the wall in common room of St Helens is playing an old rerun of a show called Love Island, Charles always hated that show and remembers his delight when it was cancelled back in 2021 off the back of human rights campaign.
40 Years have passed since Charles worked as a healthcare worker in the Covid -19 pandemic of 2020 that decimated most of the countries across the world. The Pandemic has been heavy on Charles’ mind lately as his grandkids are visiting today. They have a history report due and his son has convinced him to tell his story. He is nervous, they won’t believe the insanity of the mob mentality, they won’t believe small bottles of hand sanitiser for 15 Euro. They won’t understand the sound of fear and terror he endured on a daily basis or understand the guilt of informing families that they cannot be at the bedside of their dying relative.
His attention is fixed on a single droplet of spit that has gathered in the corner of Jims gaping mouth.
Charles scans the common room, carers not wearing gloves, people sneezing into open space, stained old sanitizer bottles scattered on tables. Was there even a pandemic? Was his mind playing tricks on him, Was he going senile? The truth is that people are too quick to forget. The world moves at a swift pace and once important details fall to memory. Charles hoped that just maybe the younger generation might listen, that they might learn from past mistakes and prevent the next world crisis. But he was too much of a realist for that, these kids won’t listen to the aimless ramblings of this feeble old man that they’re coaxed into visiting.
The door swings open and the monotone ping of the kids’ phones startles Jim awake, the culminating spit falls from his mouth onto the crimson, shagged carpet.
“Who’s ready for a story’’ Charles declares in the most upbeat voice he can muster
“Me ….” Both kids reply in a disinterested, disparaging tone
Charles can’t help but despair, he sighs and begins…
“Once Upon a Time in Wuhan…..”
RØ 