On one’s way home

“….on the way home, it was impossible to ignore the change in “them”- the subtle was viciously turning into obvious. 

Dry coughs entangled the bouts of sneezes, the hollow tap-rap of crouches, canes and limping, was creating an eerie melody echoing in the thick haze of fatigue.

Suicide pedestrians kept challenging insane drivers, every couple (no matter the age) was discussing nothing but the health, each of them walking light years in preservation of their personal space and opinion, with zero respect for the other. 

And so it made a perfect sense the fighting clubs kept springing up all around the city of London like fly agarics.

It was only four years ago, when I travelled by the very same train, accompanied by the very same people rushing home from work. With closed eyes I could dive unnoticed into their conversations of many topics, or just listen to specific sounds of the train, following my own thoughts. 

Eye could walk home, down the lit up pathway of family houses, bathing in silence, or melodies of many eras and countries, complemented with laughter and children’s voices. 

Not anymore.

There was nothing left but yelling. On the busses, trains, planes, at the airports, stations, in the shops, hospitals, schools, homes, streets.

The defenders of the insanemanmade rules upgraded by ten levels. 

Fellow pedestrians turned into kamikaze walkers by, seeing nothing but their highway. 

My friendly neighbour (who, would be over the moon I’m using his exact words), decided I needed a saviour, since he was depressed, and eye still refused to see the world in a positive way despite the contagious worldwide covidpositivity, (bad bad bad, unfriendly Slavomira).

Seeing him, after eyeing up this blinding bright cherry tree (echoing to me in petals a surprised quiet voice of one white angel from 20/11/23. “He is still able to walk??” I did not understand her surprise back then, still learning the true meaning of her words that very night.), proved to be a rather difficult task, since his usual question “How’r’ya?” got answered.

“There’s still war in Ukraine, and my father is dead today just like he was yesterday. So how am I supposed to be?”

He offered his knowledge of evil Putin destroying the world, followed by his empathy, since his dad died 15years ago, so he knew 100% what I was feeling.

And yet I was talking about British government tickling the core of a nuclear war (media don’t say any of that, how am I supposed to know?!), just as I was not talking about his dad…

“Did you have to kill him too?” eye asked.

“No, what… why would you ask such…”

Yes, the world is full of zombies to be. And full of friendly neighbours, who may decide you need to be saved, without actually hearing a word dropped by you. Since all they can hear is their own understanding of an event, just as all they can see is nothing but their experience…