(PHOTO PROMPT © Ulrika Undén )
Capitalism always finds its way irrespective of whether it finds itself in times of wealth or woes. These were the times of woes. The only memories were of masks. Masks knitted, stitched, woven, cut and regurgitated by machines working unceasingly, uncomplainingly and untiringly. The bloody things were even distinguishable by their nomenclature and price. N95 1860 for those who could afford and a rag tag for those who couldn’t.
One had to pay a price not just by contracting the novel virus, but also for trying not to contract it. But either way Big Pharma always rode the elevator – UP!
(Word Count: 100)
This story was written as part of the FRIDAY FICTIONEERS challenge, more about which may be found HERE
For more stories based on the above prompt, click HERE