Like a surge coming from nowhere, the beast lurking in the shadows which suddenly emerges from it thus took its prey by the throat before dragging them into the abyss of hell, leaving behind scorched lands and dry rivers that the sobs of families abandoned to their sad fate could no longer irrigate. 

So life froze, leaving hordes of imprisoned people speechless, gazing out of their windows and skylights at the sun and stars, not knowing if they could touch them again with their fingertips. An isolation broken by these crepuscular choirs dedicated to white coats, anonymously omnipresent in this cataclysm, fighting relentlessly, day and night. 

From Wuhan to NYC to Milan, life has stopped. Time suspended its flight. 

Some took refuge in the past, posting photos of adolescence on social media where the innocence and arrogance of youth promised a bright future. Others live the day-to-day life looking to tomorrow without thinking about the next day. 

The beast crosses mountains and valleys, striking the poorest. 

Five hundred million new poor, thus the swelling waves of millions of others who for decades, children of the oil shock and globalization, thought one day to emerge from the shadows to finally discover a better life, but who now found themselves in apnea struggling against storms and tides, sucked in by the whirlpools of a new world that did not want to speak its name. 

Europe, spinning in never-ending circles, a dead-end planet, communities on the edge of the abyss, deserted Hollywood, ghost towns and the paradox of confinement, millions of Asian Indians thrown onto the roads, fleeing from mega-cities in an invisible tsunami. 

A polaroid, a snapshot of a world screaming silently for help, of a race against time to get out of this crisis, so that the whole earth can finally wake up and say to itself that all this was only a nightmare that we will have to remember forever.


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