Natasha Minas

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Janice coughed behind her mask and they shot her. Slumping to a defeated heap upon the 1.5 metre social distance sticker she occupied. All I could hear was the whistling of the peak hour city rail train and the business as usual monotone of the train carriage announcer “masks are mandatory on all railway trains and platforms. Non-compliance will not be tolerated”. I never knew why or how I became this way but all I knew was that when shit hit the proverbial fan I sprung into action. Some people freeze. Turned to stone by shock or a synapse overload of conscious decisions. But me, my hands just start working, as if I were brushing my teeth or turning on the television.