Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

This is the author's second memoir, closely following her first book, "Lost Virginity." She found putting her life to pen very difficult, but hopes her past can help others build on their futures. She still lives in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada.

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The Blue-

Balboa Press

Chapter One

"All great change is proceeded by chaos." -Deepak Chopra (1946 - 2012)

In a crushing blow, a timeless prophecy was satisfied. Nature reclaimed the world, reaping humanity as easily as wild fire could devastate dry kindling.

We as a species were ripe for a pandemic.

We thought we were gods over our domain.

Humanity in its quintessence had become complacent in its science based knowledge and the right to bear arms. The human race festered and corroded the very earth that sustained it.

Mother Nature was due for some retribution.

Deep from her bowels she delivered a microscopic entity of annihilation.

Ninety-nine point nine percent of the world's population ceased to be. Our religious scholars preached the seven days of creation.

Mother Nature proved to be more effective, obliterating homosapiens within three days.

If you left it to a woman—you definitely got efficiency!

Click—as easy as turning a light off.

The seven billion breathing, fighting, breeding homosapiens on planet earth became extinct; it was a sunny winter day in December 2012.

Chapter Two

"Hell is Empty and All the Devils are Here." -William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

On the evening of Saturday December 22, 2012, case after case began to assault the world's health facilities.

Scientists were bewildered.

There was neither cadence nor reason to who survived and who perished. There were no biases toward race, gender, age, religion or wealth—the viral path showed no restrictions.

The closest the human species came to identifying the manner and rationality of the assailant was through the work of a geneticist. The geneticist claimed the invader was a retrovirus attacking our genes. This retrovirus had become enticed by our genes, compelling them to change into a mutation—as a puppet master would work a finger-puppet, the virus took over the human body.

It killed us, or established permanent altering residence within the body. Our DNA was its playground.

The virus transformed its newly claimed homosapiens terrain into a different version of its former self. Time was unfavorable for the many who tried to identify and combat the plague of our destruction.

The postulation of probabilities through vast technologies procured no results.

The scientific study of processing and delving into the irrationality of the worldwide pandemic was over before specialists could be convened and equipment warmed up.

We were caught, like a deer transfixed by oncoming headlights. Blinded with our pants down—humanity was road kill.

Chaos spread worldwide superseding all artificial borders. The incubation period, by guess, was less than three days. Time was on the germs' side. The infection process was obscure and rapid. It moved with the elusiveness of smoke whilst it delivered its lethal contagious cargo.

Resistance was futile.

We were trying to combat smoke an insubstantial, lethal ghost.

The entire world's vast weaponry sat impotent against a faceless, formless enemy of the people.

No trigger was pulled.

No button was pushed.

Not a single bullet was fired.

We didn't have time to designate neither the mode nor the means of transmission.

We were infected, but how? What was the vehicle of transmission?

The question of transmission weighed heavily on the world's mind.

Our thoughts were encumbered by our vulnerability and defenselessness. Death came quickly; an individual carried the disease symptom free for a couple of days. Then, with impudent abruptness, symptoms incapacitated the sufferer.

The infected human population collapsed into a state a dizzying and waning loss of motor function. The illness ravaged the human body in a matter of a few hours. The onset of symptoms was subtle until death tapped you on your shoulder. Death came quietly to all but the few the virus adapted—those screamed. Pain and terror resonated in their shrieks, a sound that would haunt and reverberate in the dreams of those still living.

Chapter Three

"Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is truer than you." -Dr. Seuss (1904 - 1991)

Ten years as an emergency room nurse, and I was stuck working a night shift. What was I thinking picking up a graveyard shift? I never slept well the next day. Tonight I was no different than a hamster on a wheel. I was running fast, but going nowhere, or so it seemed. My educated hands could not thwart the advancing destruction of the pandemic. Humanity had no time or understanding to take any advanced standard precautions.

Washing your hands or wearing gloves and gowns were impotent endeavors—all of it was a pointless effort.

Everyone was dying.

The beleaguered victims of the virus could not be appeased. The delirious, semi-conscious patients began an endless inward flux into my trauma center. Surge upon surge of the helpless emptied ceaselessly through our doors. It was pandemonium. Uncontrollable bedlam pervaded the conduits of the hospital. Within the first hour of the viral ambush, the tidal wave hurtling down on humanity wordlessly declared a disaster mode.

The beaten staff could not gain their balance against the onslaught. Awash with the profuse numbers of the incapacitated, the hospital was overcome, helpless. Besieged by the unabridged masses of the city's despondent, the numbers crushed our fraught health facility and our moral.

Unbeknownst to our hospital, the virus's lapping flame had jumped borders and was now satiating its hunger globally. Our hospital's macabre scene was reproduced, in all its wretchedness, on the whole of humanity.

We as a species were quickly being annihilated into extinction.

Health institutions were seeing people transition from a state of unconsciousness to critically ill in a matter of hours. These people died quickly, almost peacefully. They just never woke up.

A peaceful demise wasn't always the case. Some, albeit rare cases—appeared to journey through unimaginable torment. They had their own personal view of the gates of hell.

Their screams echoed in the halls of the world's health facilities.

Their cacophony of cries reverberated with varying degrees of wretchedness. Caregivers were helpless to soothe the orchestra of indecent and woeful suffering.

Transmission came like a thief in the night, stealing humanity's heartbeat. An anonymous vector, open to a virus of unknown pedigree, it vied with nothing.

The world's health experts, just didn't know what the virus was and how it was transmitted. Humanity had no resistance, and no clue as to how or what was conquering them. It was a disproportionate war waged on the homosapiens.

A microscopic murderer—a mere virus—laid claim to human existence.

The world had no defense—I had no defense as it turned out. A faceless formless assailant embraced me.

I did not die. Instead, the virus took my hand and dragged me through the doors of an abyss.

My two dogs howled as the assault pervaded within my body.

Echoes of their whines continued to resound throughout my tortured anguish. It was their humble protest to my screams of agony.

A fire and ice storm raged through every cell, simultaneously. I fought poorly against the amassed horror brewing within my being. The virus`s attack left no reprieve and no escape. I was circling...