Not With A Bang, But With A Cuppa:

He hid behind a locked door, barricaded with a cheap coffee table.  It was a matter of time before they caught him, did tests on him and cast him into the chaos of what was laughably called ‘everyday life’.  And then, one morning the inevitable army boot hit his front door.  He was dragged away kicking and screaming.  

He could remember being poked and prodded.  Hit with needles of various sizes.  Watched as the centrifuges spun around like fairground rides.  Time had funnelled down into a Coriolis of Chaos.  

And yet six weeks ago, it had all been so simple.  The day had started like any other.  He showered, shaved, turned half an ear to the friendly ambience of local radio. Turned on the kettle, made a cup of tea.  Nothing unusual in that, he made it in the normal way.  Filled the mug to the brim, placing a tablespoon on the teabag.  

But then the impossible happened.  

He couldn’t taste tea.  Nothing.  Instead of a powerful, refreshing brew; only the taste of boiled water sauntered across his tongue.  

And he did what every human being does; when the everyday fades to grey (or Earl Grey, in this case).  He tried again.  He made a pot.  Half filled it with freshly boiled water.  Serious tea drinkers would tell him that this re-oxygenates the water, but this was a moot point.  He waited for the pot to warm.  He’d be late for work, but this was of more importance.  He poured the tea, a sound that was both bucolic and patriotic.  

Nothing.  

Most people decided that drinking coffee would be a good solution.  

And as society collapsed, he barricaded himself in.  The Government would sort it all out, people reasoned.  A succession of minor government ministers appeared on TV and radio, assuring the nation that the situation was in hand.

But where is our Prime Minister, the people asked?  

Eventually, he appeared on TV, mug in hand.  Assured the nation that the second version of the virus (nicknamed ‘Tea B’) had been identified.  A Patient Zero had been discovered and he would be taken into custody for the good of the nation.  In conclusion, the Prime Minster told the nation they would ‘get Tea B done’.  

That was last night.  

And now, the young woman in the lab coat opened the door of his Isolation Pod.  The headlines of a news channel on the TV spun around again:

‘Militant wing of The WI claims responsibility, for altering thermometers in coffee shops’

‘Building work falls to its lowest level since the war’

‘Record numbers elect to work nights’

She was carrying a cup of tea.  She held it out to him, he took a sip.  And in a small, almost imperceptible moment, the fate of a nation hung on his response.  

‘Well?’ she said.

‘You’ve put the milk in first’.