There were whispers. People everywhere were talking, and thinking, about vastly underestimated body counts, and nobody truly knew how many people were infected. But nobody truly wanted to express their fear. For fear that they would be ridiculed for being the first one to wear a mask, for fear that the rumors of bioweapons were exaggerated, for fear that they would be labelled as a conspiracy theorist, or a coward. Those people would be alive today if only they didn't give a shit about their appearance, the perception that Fools had of them. At the end of the day, it was the fact that none of them had ever through a true plague before. They all remembered SARS and Ebola, and never met a single person it affected. They said it was all media hype, and they it would be the same way this time. And they all laughed at the fools who prepared. And they are all dead now. I didn't take precautions. I didn't wear a mask. I didn't leave the city. I didn't wash my hand any more than usual. But that was my choice. I wanted to die, and I was hopeful that I would. But God won't let me die. So now I live, and I live with the dead. Corpses in stairwells and on the streets. No more doctors, no more nurses, they all died. And no more people to bury the dead. Just me and a few others, still frightened that the plague will come back. But mostly, it's just me.