The room was simple: two small windows to let some light in and enough space to fit three cows. The bed was a slim wooden mattress put on a metallic base. Food was given two times a day, lunch, and dinner. There was no breakfast. Patients were expected to always stay in their small room and not burn calories.
Hiro arrived a few weeks ago from a city beyond the mountains. In that city, the virus had spread in a few weeks, blindly killing thousands of people. Hiro had run away and hiked his way back to his parents’ province. The province had closed its borders letting in only locals able to prove their residency there. Hiro’s father was a high ranked official in the military, and paperwork for him was the matter of a phone call.
Hiro did not like his father. The man had a toxic pride and too great ambitions for his son. Ambitions that Hiro didn’t share. Hiro didn’t want to join the military or followed his father’s dream and have a career in politics. Hiro was an artist.
Hiro had tried as much as possible to avoid his father; however, when his worried mother implored him to come back home, he quickly packed his stuff, looked for a way home and took advantage of his father’s network.
Transportation was non-existent due to the virus outbreak. Hiro had to walk one hundred kilometres through the mountain. It took him six days to walk to his hometown…
