Separation
The soft blue flashing from the tracker on my wrist is the only source of light in my dark quarters, rhythmically continuing at its steady pace. I count each flash, keeping track of the seconds as they tick by. It’s almost time for the morning alarms and I cringe just thinking about my workload for this week, the final week. The Southeast workers have been loading ships and aircrafts for weeks, prepping the food, medicine and textile donations to go to the other, poorer countries on Day Zero.
