I decided to challenge myself to write a short story each day for a week on the theme of infection. Each story is no longer than 500 words and 4 minutes in length. Some are serious others less so. Find the text of the seventh and final story below but you can also listen on my podcast. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

Seven Fevers

Sunday is a day of Less

Sunday was the first hot day of Spring. My wife took the kids to visit their grandmother. It was an hour’s drive. 

‘Be careful.’ I said. ‘That nasty virus is going about.’

‘Well we’re not going out to lick surfaces and cough on each other.’ My wife said. She liked her occasional sarcastic jibe. 

I stayed at home to write. I worked in Construction for years but left to do something different. My wife encouraged me to go to evening classes. I felt I had novel in me if I could find the right subject.

Once they left, I sat in the garden and tried to note down some ideas.

After lunch I watched the news. Virus infections had exploded. There was to be a lockdown strategy. They used phrases like STAY HOME and THE R NUMBER

My wife phoned. She would stay at Grandmother’s with the kids. The Lockdown wouldn’t last long. ‘More time for your epic.’ She said. I don’t think she was being sarcastic.

Anyway she was wrong. 

The lockdown lasted nearly three months. At first I behaved as normal except I didn’t go out. Gradually I felt as though my old routine wasn’t right for me. So I started trying new things like baking and online tutorials. 

By week four I dreaded going to bed and waking up in the morning. Game shows gave way to Government Briefings with huge infection and mortality numbers. On video calls the kids looked at me as though I were near and far away. 

Once a week my buddies from Construction ran an online quiz. When I walked for exercise it was the same path clockwise or anti-clockwise.

I never opened my journal.

Although I didn’t have the virus it controlled everything I did. The absence of freedom was like a broken thumb. I realised how much it was needed when I couldn’t use it. 

12 weeks later Lockdown arrangements were eased. My wife and kids came home. We agreed not to hug. It was great to see them.

‘Can I read your novel?’ My wife said with a smile.

‘Not yet.’ I said ‘But I made a raspberry sponge you’ll love.’ She wasn’t the only one who could do sarcasm.

We had a big family dinner and then on Sunday morning I went to a nearby cafe with my journal for a coffee. 

Instead of writing I stared through the window. People met and sat on outside benches. They laughed a lot but looked sad. Above them the sky was blue but paler, the sun warm with less heat.

We were all back where we began set free to live in our world like strangers. 

I called my Construction buddies and told them I was coming to work on Monday.