This is one of those days when I have nothing to say, when there’s nothing in my head that needs to be put into words. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, signifying that I’m at peace with my world, or if it’s a bad thing, signifying . . . actually, I don’t know what it would signify. That I’m stagnating? I just checked for synonyms for stagnating, and the words that showed up — festering, rotting, deteriorating — seem to indicate a lot of activity, and there really isn’t much activity of any kind going on in the thought department.
Oh, there is that conspiracy tale I’m playing around with but don’t really want to get involved with writing — you know the one where a certain disease that virologists were enhancing to be more damaging escaped from a lab. In my scenario, they do it on purpose, though what that purpose is, we won’t find out to the end of the story. As the story progresses, it turns out that the disease the citizenry are told that is causing the pandemic is something quite different from what it actually is, but since the official story blames a variant of a common virus, one that has been known for decades, a large percentage of those who are tested get positive results for that particular virus rather than the true one. As more and more people get sick, the various populations of the world start clamoring for a vaccine, which, of course, is what the perpetrators of the pandemic want. They have something they want to inject into the world’s population — perhaps some sort of tracking chip, though I haven’t yet figured out exactly what it is they want to inject — and they know people won’t accept the injection without a reason, so, they created the reason: the pandemic. Hence, millions of people swarm to get injected while the perpetrators look on with satisfaction.
Yeah, that conspiracy tale.
As I said, I’d never write it because part of it hits too close to home, and I generally stick with stories of government shenanigans based on events that happened decades ago, but it does make me wonder how much of that which we are told is true really is true. How would we know? In this case, we know people who got sick, even know someone who died, but beyond that, what actually do we know on our own without someone putting thoughts into our heads? (Which, of course, would be the sub story of this particular tale.)
Come to think of it, it’s probably a good thing my mind is mostly empty. I wouldn’t want to start believing my own story and get paranoid about all the changes going on in the world because of this misbegotten parasite. (Apparently, viruses are classified as microscopic parasites since they cannot live for long or reproduce outside a host body.)
In retrospect, since I’m mostly staying away from any news source, it makes sense that I have no deep thoughts about anything right now since I am purposely restricting what goes in. And, of course, nothing can come out if nothing goes in.
If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html
Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/
Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842