One of the short stories in my new, darkly comedic book, Death Bound: Life Support Edition, is called Generation Still-Born.
Generation Still-Born is a satirical story about Covid-19 that pokes fun at both our panicking and our failure to react accordingly before showing what our future may look like ten years from now.
The year is 2029, and a new, defining generation is upon us.
Disregard the Lost and the Greatest Generations. Both are inconsequential. Both are blips on the timeline of history, relegated to mere precursors. No, the generation that truly matters began during a period of war and economic depression and is now referred to as the Silent “but deadly” Generation.
When the trials of that era ended, a newfound sense of safety spread the nation, which begot new jobs, which begot more spending, which begot more businesses, which begot yet more jobs but with higher wages and thus higher spending, and on and on…
…All thanks to the carnal pleasures of horny soldiers returning to horny wives and engaging in an unprecedented amount of copulating.
Basically, shit got good for the United States, resulting in the Baby Boomer generation.
Next came the often-forgotten Generation Jones… then Generation X… then the millennial Generation Y and then Z. Alpha should have been the generation to come after, but a respiratory disease called Covid-19 came instead and forever changed the world.
Rampant ignorance and stubbornness led to a pandemic unlike anything humanity has ever seen as Covid-19 began spreading between people in close contact. Irrationality grew exponentially. Coughing became a cause for suspicious looks. Sneezing resulted in death stares. Touching suddenly became a no-no, with a penalty of severing the offending hands.
And being Asian? Worst offense of all. The American attention mercilessly shifted from herding illegal immigrants back south to hunting Asians instead. It was common to find enchanted wards hanging around the doors and windows of homes and businesses alike; to smell burning sage; to hear prayers for protection; or to notice entryways lined with salt.
When extra measures were deemed necessary, spikes were mounted with signs written in cat blood warning Asians to keep their distance, thus invoking an unfortunate return to the days of Vladimir the Impaler.
In months, Covid-19 not only killed hundreds of thousands, but it regressed the power of a respectful handshake into mere head nods or waves. Alarm shook the planet awake like the shifting of tectonic plates. Hoarding and panic shopping led to price gouging and unique out-of-stock issues. Shortages of germ-killing agents became a national concern, as too did shortages of toilet paper. The latter of which, resulted in the six-hundred-and-fourteenth commandment: Though shalt not waste tee-pee for thy bunghole…
Read Death Bound: Life Support Edition to finish this story.