Diana (click here to follow her!) was inspired by the current situation the world is going through: the cruel pandemic called COVID-19, so she sent me an illustration. We agreed that I would write a poem. However, when it came to write, I couldn’t write a poem. I had so much to say. Plus, her illustration was literally worth a thousand words, it was telling a story. And every time I looked at it, the story spoke of hope. When I sent the short story to Diana, she came back with three illustrations. Here’s the result! Let me know what you think!
It was 10 p.m., but it felt like the night was young. There was nothing to do, or there was nothing she could think of doing. Sleep wasn’t an option, she thought, so she went to her room, sat by the window, and stared at the outside world. It seemed like it was only yesterday, when she was sitting by that same window with a serene smile on her face, that some people were stuck in traffic, some were walking to the park, and others were cooking dinner after a long day of work, or celebrating a relative’s birthday… There was life on her street, on the sidewalks, and behind the windows of the building next to hers. But everything changed almost overnight.
So there she was staring. Silently. This time, her smile was tasteless. No joy, no peace, not even sadness. Almost numb. The street fell into a deep coma, the park took a break from human beings, and the apartments of the building next to hers were devoid of light. It seemed like everyone went to sleep thinking that what the world was going through was simply a nightmare and that the next day, when they’d wake up, it would all be over and normality would become everyone’s reality again. But for how many nights would people have to sleep to forget? No one knew.
It was now 10:15 p.m. She opened the window to get some fresh air. She was still staring barrenly from the 7th floor, almost waiting for a human to appear on the sidewalk, just like Rapunzel waiting for a prince to declare his love to her. Alas, nothing.
She thus asked God for a sign.
Will the world end?
Will I lose my friends?
These sentences popped in her head as if they were born to become a poem. She thought of getting up in order to grab a pen and a notebook, but she didn’t feel like it. Staring was easier. Less exhausting in a time when you’re asked to do nothing. She asked again for a sign. Silence.
10:30 p.m. She heard something. Maybe it’s just the wind, she wondered. She heard that same noise again. And again. Something you hear in horror or murder mystery movies. She heard it again. It was something familiar to her, but she couldn’t identify it.
She heard it another time, but now, the noise was getting closer, becoming easier to pinpoint. Some kind of bird was a good guess, but it wasn’t some pleasant tweets, more like a …
Death? Is that the sign, Lord?
She sighed. After a minute or two, she heard the raven again as it flew back to her window, but this time, the caw wasn’t scary or irritating. She indeed realized that it was the bit of life she hadn’t seen in a while.
What if it’s a dove in disguise?
She thanked the Lord, got up, and decided to pray. Pray that this peaceful nightmare would end soon. Pray that the raven would come back the next night and greet her. Again.