quarantine is the real-life Hotel California, i can’t
unthink it. you know, that Eagles song? even
American Horror Story had an entire season about it,
with Lady Gaga. time and time, again. i’m found,
trapped inside the same desolate house that i’ve been
forced to call a sanctuary. purgatory. i’ve learned to
love the small things though. peaches that don’t
ripen fast. hearing the highway from my bedroom.
the reflection that paints on a window’s canvas. the
koi fish haven’t jumped out of the pond as of yet.
the puzzle i finished wasn’t missing a piece. it’s all
calm, then i remember that i have about two rolls of
toilet paper in stock. not sure where i’m going to find
any more of that. i guess there’s always leaves. i still
think if i had to i’ll trade my gold chain for some.
screw being in an apocalypse, i still need to wipe my
ass. i’d rather spend it on food, or something like a
hobby. rewind, not to mention, i’m still pretty salty
that i have a period because i know it’s God’s way of
punishing me for being gay. like what? why? maybe
it’s his kind way of welcoming me into the seventh
hell. after all, that is what this place is right? i took
an online test and the results told me that’s where i’ll
end up. it’s probably more fun being a Satanist,
anyways. except i faint from blood, so if there are
those ritual things, like what I saw in that movie
Hereditary, i’m out. but, i could kick it with the devil
for a while. he seems a lot like the general boy that
my friend’s fiend for. honestly, he probably smokes
weed, too. in that case, we would definitely be
homies. i mean as long as he listens to good music.
yeah, God created the plant, but if Satan is a fallen
angel, then God created him too. apparently cool
kids are hypocrites.
Emma Scintu is a writer finishing her undergrad at The University of Iowa. She was awarded a scholarship at the New York State Summer Writers Institute and attended the residency. While she has never been published before, she is an Editor-in-Chief for Quarantine Magazine, based in Iowa City.