Death has taken more than the bodies of those we knew and loved, it has also taken away our living. Its scythe has cut away at our order, stability, security and routine, each one left bleeding on the empty streets of what was once our life. The sun has dried their blood, leaving vestiges of a life we thought we hadn’t taken for granted. Death sweeps through each home, slicing away at our peace and calm, leaving us gasping our last breathe of each; fear, anxiety and uncertainty the only things we have left to inhale. They become our only hope for survival. We collect and pull tight to our breast the things we think will make us feel safe, the comforts we never imagined we might lose. We squeeze them to us, hiding them away in dark corners, hoping the time doesn’t come when someone will want to take them from us. Death has taken life, yes, but it has also taken everything else many hold dear, leaving the living like walking dead in a fog of uncertainty and fear.
