The Fire This Time!

I was sure it had found me. The first local out of a population of 181,000 persons? Some distinction! My eyes were just not right, the fever had mounted to 100 degrees and my body ached. Why ever me? But, then again, why the nausea, and why not the characteristic dry cough? And what of the very present chills with the room temperature in the high eighties; what did they mean? Hadn’t heard about those, I don’t think. The scare lasted a good few hours. In fact, for as long as it took for me to arrive at the psychological moment when I was made to involuntarily expel the hostile contents of my stomach. Alleluia! Instant relief. Almost back to myself. And as I write the day after, feeling good.

But, having been given instructions from friends, family and, come to think of it—a couple of foreigners—to take some time to rest, I decided to dutifully slow down, become a couch potato and
get to checking both my phone and laptop. I hadn’t yet seen footage of the fire at Bordelais, and had heard no further news on it, but there it was announcing itself on the first page, so caught up on that, viewing the shots, ummm photos, and listening to the audio. 

Such stuff and nonsense. Those imprisoned men deserved to be locked up, if only for their stupidity, which no doubt had also played a part in their being in there in the first place. Can you imagine a whole floor of caged men setting on fire some mattresses in a hallway and crying out to themselves and each other to burn the whole place down because they are claiming to be scared stiff of a visit from the virus? Remember, these are caged men, men behind bars.

Once that fire really got going, show me the warden who would be running every which way to go unlock cells to free men who are very probably the bane of their existence anyway. Can’t think of any. Surely, they would understandably be running to the nearest exit to save themselves.  Now, on top of that first bright idea of those lawbreakers, they actually had a second even more hair-brained one: set alight the mattresses in the very cells which they inhabit. What were they thinking? That new mattresses would be ordered instantly from Lubeco, or what? I dunno. I dunno. I dunno! But I rather suspect that would not have transpired. ‘Cause surely the aforementioned wardens would have had those Einsteins decide between the devil and the deep blue sea, i.e. in simple terms, the floor or the burnt-out mattresses for the rest of their incarceration. No? I say yes. It just might assist them in not conceiving such bright ideas in the future.

Am I being too callous and heartless? I mean, what would you do if you were a guest of Her Majesty and were suddenly seized of the notion that Corona was about to pay a visit to said institution and ravage every male in her path? Pardon, but she is a woman isn’t she, with that label?  Well, whether a he or a she, or fluid, what would you decide? Tell me it’s a no-brainer. Or is it?