Finally, after a long and stressful day, I can go home and relax with an ice-cold beer and the latest sports highlights on ESPN. Come on, elevator, move faster. I can’t stay one more minute under this dim, soul-sucking LED light in this grey office with equally depressed workers dressed in straight pinstripes and pointed faces. Why is it still on floor 13? Wasn’t it there 5 minutes ago? I should wait a little longer because I know I’m not walking down 11 flights of stairs.

I see dark clouds starting to brew outside the glass windows. The wind slowly picks up, gently swaying the century-old oak tree. A raindrop hits the glass, then another, commencing in a race. They rush, trying to outrun the other, trying to claim victory. A loud “DING” noise snaps me out of my daze, bringing me back to the dreary speckled grey floors and blinking corner light.

The elevator door opens, revealing emptiness. (Huh, that’s weird) Where is the elevator car? All I see is a black wall with drooping wire cables. Welp, it looks like I’m walking. One step, two steps, three steps. I’ve only just begun, and I’m tired ( I really need to start working out again). Looking over the rail, I see a dark abyss framed with never-ending, winding rails—ten more flights to go. Come one leg; the ocean blue ottoman awaits your embrace. 5 more steps, 4, 3, 2, 1. Finally, I’m out of that miserable building.

Big raindrops pelt the glass door, going pitter-patter, pitter, patter. It now hits me that I forgot my umbrella. Maybe I can take a chance and run to my ancient car. A loud, deep rumble and a bright streak of light penetrate the gloomy sky, changing my mind in an instant. But I need to get home; my tasteless TV dinner is waiting for me.

Out the corner of my eye, I see a bright blue box, a newspaper box. I can use a newspaper or two as coverage as I run to my car. I grab a few without looking at the latest headline, sprinting to my car, partially covered from the harsh drumming of the rain. I have never been this happy to see my manure brown station wagon. I unlock it in a hurry, inhaling the comforting smell of stale cigarette smoke. The soggy newspaper is thrown on the passenger’s seat. With a rumble and a screech, I leave the dilapidated parking lot, forgetting about the damp newspapers.

Finally, I’m home. The peeling paint and creaking front steps welcome me. I grab my belongings from the passenger seat, rushing into the lonely house. I need to hurry to take off my wet suit jacket before I get sick, accidentally knocking down that stack of newspapers.

As I picked up the papers, I noticed the headline reads “WHO declares the Coronavirus outbreak a pandemic.” Huh? What is coronavirus? I continue to read as the wind batters my house. The article says that the virus is likely to spread throughout all countries across the globe. So far, 1,000 cases have been diagnosed, and 29 people have died.

Another paper tells of Lysol and mask shortages, and the increasing mortality rates. The last one reads, “Nationwide Shutdown Imminent.” I turn on the TV, ignoring the basketball game playing on the screen, searching for a news channel. Finally, I come across ABC news. I await the headline about this mysterious virus as I warm up my frozen dinner. Nothing yet, I flip to another channel and then another. There is no news about a coronavirus. I re-check the first newspaper to see if that article is from a fiction story column.

The first thing I notice is the date, “March 11th, 2020,” which can’t be right, since today is November 1st, 2019. I look at my phone for confirmation, yep, November 1st, 2019, 6:32 pm. This must be a fake newspaper because how can this newspaper be from 4 months in the future. The others say similar dates, all in 2020. They look identical to newspapers I got earlier in the week that is now homed in my overflowing trash can. Tossing the papers on the already full coffee table, I don’t think about the newspapers again. But a nagging feeling still lingers in the back of my mind, questioning what I just read. It’s quickly washed away by the cool wave of the enticingly bitter beer.

The weekend passes, and I’m back again at the building that exudes darkness and doom. I join the line of workers as we drag our feet, hoping to prolong our entrance into the gates of hell. Passing by the lobby, I see the blue newspaper box is gone, failing to leave behind any hint of its existence. I ask my colleague if he knows where the box has gone. He looks at me with a questioning gaze, with furrowed brows and a slight tilt to his head. He says, “We never had a newspaper box in the office.” Now I’m confused because I clearly remember the tattered, worn box that housed those peculiar newspapers. But looking back, I never saw the box before the day of the storm. That space was always empty, with the occasional dust bunny making its claim now and then. My thoughts flee as my troll-like boss with shedding hair and a crooked gaze passes by investigating my colleagues and me, forgetting all about the peculiar headlines.

A few months go by, and I’m now cooped up in my rundown house, hoping to outlive the dreaded coronavirus. Can you imagine the disbelief and anxiety that filled my mind when the headlines came true? Like the other panic-stricken people of the world, I hoarded bales of toilet paper, fighting off other gremlins with greedy eyes. When I left my house, I looked like a biochemist on the way to investigate a chemical leak in my homemade hazmat suit, consisting of a beekeeping suit, three N95 masks layered on my face and red rubber gloves all the way to my shoulders.

Today I don my homemade suit, preparing to buy groceries. As I stepped out of my home, I noticed a grey roll of paper tucked behind my dying rose bushes. It’s a newspaper that looks like it has been there for months with ripped edges and watermarks tangled with the growing weeds. I picked up the paper, intrigued by its sudden appearance.


On the front page, tucked in the lower right corner, is a picture of me followed by the words “In loving memory of Michael J Stuart.” It continues with “he was born August 18th, 1979 and passed on November 1st, 2020, losing his battle with COVID-19.” My breath quickens. The world is spinning. Spots of darkness invade my vision. I’m going down. As my head touches the pavement, I realize today is July 27th, 2020.

-Sheanna M.