Jo sat in her window, the net curtains pulled back, looking out at the park over the street - there were no children playing, there never were now. The world was in lockdown, or the human world at least, no one went outside unless they really had to, and even then, some people still refused to risk it. Jo fell amongst the latter.
Three days ago, she’d taken her last dose of the pills, without getting more. And she wouldn’t.
It was plastered everywhere, #stayinside #staysafe, from the news she watched every evening, to her granddaughters profile picture on that social media website - she’d even had a government letter.
Dear Mrs Lowe, Due to your age and underlying health issues…
She’d had enough explanations of the risk, the danger not just to herself, but to everyone else, if she went outside - she had no intention of being part of the problem.
Everything was in short supply, from fresh food to that life saving medication, there just wasn’t enough for everyone. The very same medication.
How could she justify picking up another prescription, from what she’d read her 90 pills a month could save as many as nine people. Her prescription was for three months, that could be twenty seven lives. Since Frank died, Jo was just holding on for the sake of it.
It was nice seeing the grandkids, and her daughter-in-law still dropped shopping over once a week, but she had had her time. She was tired now, every day.
She’d carried on, like everyone does, waking up and ambling through each endless day, but she'd checked out on everyone after she lost her husband.
Jo sank back in her armchair, sunlight glazing the wet stone outside her window, staring out into the empty park. She’d felt at peace these last few days. After she’d taken her last dose, contentment had spread it’s slow, deep roots throughout her soul. The days didn’t seem endless anymore, life’s fragility gave the mundane a new depth to be appreciated.
She watched birds hopping along the fence, a butterfly alight on a puddled stone, her attention coming to rest on a dinosaur statue. She had nearly signed the petition to oppose the dinosaurs, there were six in total, homaged in the park, and they all looked so completely wrong.
Her Frank had worked in the natural history museum, freeing fossils from stone, he’d’ve had kittens if he’d seen the things.
Molded green concrete, reptilian, scaled - not a single feather.
No matter how many fossils Frank found that showed plumage, no one wanted to think of them feathered.
Jo sat reflecting on the inaccurate statue.
People remember things how they want, regardless of the truth.
She smiled. It didn’t matter now, how she saw her life, things she had or hadn’t done, her joys and her regrets, people would remember her how they wanted to.
Mother. Friend, sister, grandma, disinterested old lady, Jo closed her eyes - that was up to them.
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