Sun Is A Tank On Fire

So here we are, all of humanity sheltering in place and social distancing on a level unthunk of before The Virus. I never thought I'd long for the days when humans used to ignore one another by sitting across from each other with cell phones and never looking up. Now we hide behind face masks, latex gloves, Plexiglas partitions and practically run the other way when someone approaches. Meanwhile, majority of people are out of work, trapped at home, filled with anxiety and stress caused by unexpected homeschooling, unpaid bills, and uncertainty of the future and the economy. On top of all that, we fear an invisible enemy that could make us sick or worse, kill us. It feels as though we are stuck in a horror film that we cannot turn off. I know I don't talk much. Heck, I've been social distancing practically my entire life, even more-so now that I became a truck driver. Those of you that know me know how much I hate Facebook and social media, yet here I am writing this post.

  One: Michael sat at his computer desk staring at the blinking prompt that was patiently waiting for input. In a defeated exhale, he pushed away from the desk, leaned back in his swivel chair with his hands interlocked behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. "I have nothing left to say." Frustrated, he got up and walked into the kitchen. In the fridge, a pack of bologna and an open case of Michelob Ultra occupied the top shelf. Beneath that, a solo leftover burrito from Casa Del Toro. Disgusted, he shut the door. The wall clock in the living room could be heard ticking through the seconds; the sound of it alarmingly loud inside his head. He walked into the living room, took the clock down from the wall and smashed it against the corner of the coffee table with such force that the wooden corner dug into the palm of his hand. Holding his hurt hand in his good hand, he walked to the back of his home. When he reached the door that lead to the backyard, he pre