I write not only for immediate engagment and the comfort of a sense of community, but for the audience of One, who will find words like mine in the future, who will piece together this story of greed and global tragedy for another generation – far from now – to understand.
Archeologists of the future, filled with the knowledge of hindsight will trawl through these posts, as our current historians do with clay tablets and ancient parchment, and wonder why our society sacrificed its health and morality for the pursuit of the hollow high of wealth. For the few, poisoned by addiction to aquiring objects and all too fleeting experiences, who gulped these things down, (anything to numb the guilt), as they threw the many of us, too many of us, away.
They will study, diligently, with new tools whilst following meticulous processes, and they will conclude what many of us already knew and painfully lived:
ignoring Long Covid was a deliberate act of global self-harm.
They will get their accolades, be revered by their insitutions, sought after for their detailed yet thoughtful analysis, long after our suffering is ashes. Long after our leaders, with mouths stuffed with gold, have dissolved, their deeds rewritten and recorded in grasping memoirs. Long after Covid had won this war just by waiting, knowing our attention could not be held, as it took its opportunity to destroy populations doomed by boredom and the need to need.
There will be medals and private audiences for these clever academics with what is left of kings and queens. A party. Names etched in concrete.
…
I write this prophecy in the hope it is never fulfilled, as one that sees that doom on the horizon. I keep writing as it grows close.
I write so you can see, and bear witness, and find words like but not only mine that can excavate our present in time for us all to have a future. I keep writing in case it is already too late.
****
Writing and M.E. 