GreyBean

The world outside is empty.
No people walk about.
Those who do are not recognizable, with half of their faces covered up in cloth.
The world is shaken, paused.
Markets plummet as cases rise. 

  The roots are large, splaying out to the other trees near it. The leaves are dark green, the color of ferns and moss. It stands tall and proud as if asking the world to come and cut it down. No one has yet. 

  I wear sunglasses everywhere I go. It's not really a choice—it's more of a necessity. They're black aviator glasses, like something you'd see in a James Bond movie.

DAY ONE

  The trees are green. The leaves are small, curved and shaped like petals. Sunlight bounces from leaf to leaf, making the morning dew look like gold droplets sprinkled around the meadow. I won't describe the ground.