It's the fifth time within an unbroken 40 days that I lay ridden to this bed. It was a right ulnar fracture 2 years prior from a clumsy and much humiliating incident I shall dare not mention, and to cater to resurfacing torment of the abhorrent sensation of pain, a gift had befell in the pill of the poppy. Not once before had I been made aware of its existence; hence once I felt the unrivaled euphoria that words itself would struggle to define, it was a necessity from thereon after. It was an essential; the requirement to my capability to function that one would deem normality. But, like most things, what another would define normal, is just a form of unadulterated subjectivity. Once I could no longer feed my habit by "normal" and yet legal means, I had coerced myself to believe that a substitution, of any resemblance, would suffice. So the dope in the guise of a needle became a tether I never realized I coveted. I went about to obtain this bliss with intended ambivalence for the foul substance irregarding the incessant promise to cease its indulgence. But one with wisdom knows old habits die hard, and this was a revenant that I had Indubitably tried to slay, and no matter the trial, it was defiant to stay buried. Thus, like a loyal dog, the craving was forever nigh my side; and if I am being truthful I can say it was the constant thing I was allowed absence of any worry. overtime, I had over-indulged as any could correctly guess on innumerable accounts, and rendered myself incapacitated alongside unintended surrender to the presence of the grim; the reaper who knew my death was surely imminent.

I was revived and began the familiar convalescence in room 104. Oh if one appreciated the humor in the irony of how many times I've imbibed if that opiate derivative was a liquid; for that number was my scarlet letter plastered upon the frame beside the door! So when the nurse, who by then, was disgusted of my relentless readmittance left the room proceeding the readings of my vitals, I overheard through an adjoining curtain, another person, or should I say man, who shared the same compartment mention something that I, myself due to my current state of instability, cannot with utmost certainty declare any implausibility. To ascertain that he himself was of sane mind when that allegation was relayed cannot be promised. To another extent, to whom was this declaration made to hear? What was overheard would make even the most pious question their convictions. I must emphasize that it was not the words itself, but the genuinity that encompassed their tone, planting the seed of paranoia.

"The virus was only meant to affect the negro population."

I did not mention my insensitivity to this communicable contagion, and my permitted refuge due to my recklessness in place of those whose ailments far prioritized my own. Nonetheless, once again, I was granted to live. However, with this new life came with the inability to unhear a truth that many had tried to unveil. I now yearned the proof of its authenticity.

The consecutive afternoon after much needed rest, I had persuaded myself to bring that inquiry to the unacquainted bedfellow of said statement that I hoped was surely absentmindedly uttered. However, uncannily in unforeseen circumstances, the ambiguity of my room's companion was declared deceased upon my waking hour. It was then I took notice of the towering stature of another dressed in the bleakest of attire lurking near the perimeter of the room's door. Suffice to say he did not fit in with the aforementioned "normal" standards, and ever so slightly shifted his gaze in my direction. Or, so I am led to believe his stare grasped my own; for the difficulty to tell was due to the position of obsidian lenses atop his bridge omitting any light. The austere countenance he withheld in the direction of that presumed glare heralded the cliche of the stirring of my soul. With words astray, his grim expression succeeded with a shift in his stance across the threshold as he turned and sauntered down the corridor; the dreadful truancy of sounded footsteps; it was as if I witnessed a damn apparition!

What seemed like segregated dots dwelling in happenstance was soon deduced that this twas no coincidence. I am still breathing, yes; am I to consider it another gift perhaps? But with this gift I am fully at a loss for its purpose, only to know the unequivocal truth behind the present pandemic. Living with the knowledge that the entirety of mankind's consequences, are irrefutablely intentional is unbearable. Fuck.....maybe there's a return policy. If not, OD it is, and this time shall be permanent.