Whispers Of Distress

It was a cold, rainy day outside. I was sheltered safely at home, within white walls which have seen so much wear that they have more yellow splotches and stains more than fresh white paint. the clouds in the light, smoke grey sky were the colour of a dark charcoal grey, dotted with coin grey spots, letting us view the imperfection in the clouds. My eyes were feeling the same as the grand, thunderous clouds above us: ready to burst into a heavy shower any second. Raindrops were pitter-pattering gently on the soil for a while, spreading the sweet smell of wet soil and petrichor.

My hair was in a messy bun, kept in place with a colour pencil. The scene outside was cold but welcoming. It was a beautiful landscape, despite the excess of grey in its colour. At other times, my fingers would have been itching to grab my colours pencils and my sketchbook, trying to mirror the scene on paper, but then, I wanted all of the tension stored up in me to be thrown in the open. All I wanted was negative. 

My heartfelt like it was a jackhammer in my chest, beating at the speed of a hundred kilometres per minute. I could hear the rush of my blood in my ears. Worry coated the blood in my veins, and the clock in our living room seemed to be ticking slower. I was sitting on the sofa, having my mobile phone beside me, which was going to ring any moment. My foot was repeatedly tapping itself, the sole of my right foot recoiling from the cold marble tiled floor and meeting it again rhythmically.

My hands were fidgeting with a worn-out stress ball I had fished out from the dense, mossy forest which was my drawers with my art supplies. The sunset yellow coloured cloth was cracked in a hundred places and the black, split-ink coloured smile looked creepy, in stark contrast to what it was supposed to look like: Happy and warm. The stress ball’s texture was coarse and soothing in its own way. The rain outside was harsh then, thunder rumbling loudly and the raindrops were pummelling the glass doors shielding the insides of our house from the heavy shower.

My mobile gave a notification tinker. My screen flashed, showing a harsh blue light, the colour of neon signs outside. In the middle of the screen, right below the time shown was a thick stripe of parakeet green lined with a thinner strip of bright white at the top. A WhatsApp notification.

I immediately shoved the stress ball in the corner of the sofa seat I was on. The hairs on the nape of my neck stood upright and an involuntary shiver ran through me, only partly because of the chilly weather. I cautiously opened my mobile and checked who the message was from.

Care & Cure Labs.

My breathing quickened with anticipation as I opened WhatsApp and checked what the message was. It was the reports for my COVID Test. As I opened the document and scrolled through it, my mind frantically sings: Negative. Negative. Negative.

And at the end, I tried not to tightly shut my eyes and search for the one magical word. Search for the negative I was wishing for. My luck had taken a quick and sharp U-Turn from me. And my test results, as I was bound to get were:

Positive.