Progression

It was unlike anything. Like flying whilst all the time standing still, though with no ground beneath feet that didn’t exist. There was no person there, just sight, no sound or touch to complement it and the world laid out below.

No clouds passed, no wind to fill the air. Stillness, solitude as the dots began to appear. Little red dots over the globe, growing in areas, dying out in others. Dots that should have been too small to see, but which were clearly visible. Dots that, in some places, were so dense they should have been nothing but a mass of colour, yet which stayed distinct. And that knowledge - the knowledge that each one was a death. A death from contagion, from disease. Watching as it spread across the globe. Time meant nothing, it could have been an hour, a day, a month, a year. But just watching that spread. All that death.