It has been 3 days, I think, since the incident occurred. I have not got outside since. I can't get out. We can't get out. The guys in blue uniform are everywhere. I saw them as soon as I woke up. On the road outside, roaming the street with a strange-looking suitcase. I wonder what is in there. They are also in the corridor, guarding every door with a gun. They didn't tell us anything. They didn't even say anything. I tried to get out, by asking, by pleading, by force, but they threw me back inside my room with the strength I have never experienced in my life, threatening me silently with the gun pointing at my forehead. Their masked face looks completely emotionless, yet terrifying. Their eyes are blank and grey like the cloud before a storm. When they stared at me with those eyes, somehow, I felt an undeniable urge to conform to their unspoken command. I never heard them leave nor move. They just stand there, like a statue, spelt to guard the invaluable treasure, but I don't feel like a treasure. I feel like a prisoner. No. More like a little unsingable canary in a birdcage, small and vulnerable.
The weather outside is terrible. Nothing beyond 15 metres radius can be seen. The fog has been everywhere since the incident, bathing the whole city with the gloomy gas, but what scary is not the blurriness of the atmosphere; it's the smell.
Three days ago, after the incident, I woke up and felt terrible turbulence inside my stomach. 'I need fresh air,' I thought. But when I reach the window, in lieu of the fresh air I had expected, the fog encompassed the area. I looked at the clock on my phone. It was afternoon, so it is not a natural fog. No, not in the summer here. And when I opened one of my windows, it hit me. The smell. Despite its milky look, the fog smells like lavender, but much more heavenly. It is very urging, horrifyingly urging, the desire to follow the origin of the scent. It compelled me to take a step out of the wooden frame. Fortunately, my eyes looked down at the floor below, and my mind started to gain control over my body again. I pulled myself back to the room, gasping for the air, shocked by the recent scene. There were bodies, tens of them, scattered down the floor. Each looked like they had been trying to head towards one place: the forest. They had tried to drag themselves even though it was evident that their bones were out of places. Their legs, their arms, all were misplaced. I couldn't imagine the pain they would have, to be puppeteered to drag themselves, metres after metres, on the rocky road. It would be like you are in jail, but mentally. No matter how much you screamed because the agony was devouring your soul, the fleshly movable jail wouldn't have mercy to its anguished inmate. They are untouched, even by the guys in the blue uniform. I quickly closed the window and sealed the gaps around every single one of them with the duct tape; otherwise, I'd climb through it and fall, engulfed in the divine yet deadly fragrance, from my 5th-floor room, and end up like one of them.
Everything has gone silent since I woke up. So silent that I can sometimes hear my heartbeat beating in my chest. It makes me terrified of myself. Each beat, each small vibration my heart makes feels like an earthquake that constantly shakes my whole apartment.
Strangest of all is the sun. Even though I don't see it directly, it seems like the sun never went down. It just stays there, glowing red, near the horizontal line that separates earth and sky, getting tugged by Uranus and Gaia. No matter how many times we sleep and wake up, it never changes. It's like we are stuck in this eternal crepuscule, in the middle of day and night, light and darkness.
All the surroundings puzzle me. When I pick up my phone to call my mum, I discover that it lacks signal. Don't even have to think about the internet. All went down. The telly just shows a blue picture with a text "WAIT FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS". I have tried to use my granny's old radio. All it said is the buzzing sound. Fucking useless. I don't even know whether it has already been broken, or it was the flash that broke it.
As luck would have it, I am not entirely alone, but the choice is also not plenty. Despite that fucker outdoor, the only person I can talk to is Andropa. She lives next door. Since we can't go out, we talk through a hole, about an inch in radius, in the wall that I found in the corner of the room near the front door. We don't talk much. In fact, we have never talked to each other before. She is weird. I almost never saw her out of her room nor spoke to anyone. However, I saw her, about a week ago, walking to and fro in the corridor, clutching an ancient elegant-looking coffer, mumbling a language I don't recognise. It made me scared, so I let her be, and I intended to do it forever while I'm in this rotting place. However, in the time of human relation scarcity, she is my sole option. She is the one who keeps me sane; albeit barely.
It's strange. Everything is fucking strange. It feels like a dream, yet it's real.