Station Eleven: narrativ om pandemiens start

And just like that, Jeevan felt a sense of petrification. His friend's urgent explanation of an infectious agent so evil to humankind that the only thing to do is to pray that you are not next in line. Jeevan prayed, day in and out, hoping and longing for peace. Lately, he felt everything but peace at home. What he had called home until the latest had packed up her things and was heading south. Down where they still put sugar in the tea and summer lasts all year around, roughly. The latter was just suddenly not the case in Toronto's rough winter months where the cold hurt like the devil. Jeevan was reminded of that when he entered the building where the crime scene occurred. He needed to take his fearful hands up from his square-formed pockets though they wanted to stay inside feeling the warmth of it. He walks to the stage and looks towards the empty seats that were occupied earlier by folks spending hard-earned money to be filled with joy but little did they know that this act was in the absence of a happy ending. Jeevan looks at the floor and gets sad just as natural of a reaction as the tree used as flooring. It was like he could smell the sweat that was put into trying to save the legend that was Arthur. He could not help but think about all the lives he had blessed with his talent but also his many exes that after all still loved him deeply once.