Dear readers of the future, I'm not sure what your world looks like, but in my mind I picture clean air, green spaces, and electric transport. You may or may not be curious about the global pandemic that hit the world in 2020, killing hundreds of thousands. Nevertheless, now that we are on the other side of danger, I am going to tell you a story about when our world closed its doors. In the midst of April this year, I re-read Anne Frank's diary, and that helped me through the devastating thought looming upon me: I may never be able to see my friends and family again. Although not even close to the catastrophic events of the Holocaust, there were some elements of CoVid-19 that were similar. For example, I began to understand the feeling of never being able to meet friends in the park again, to never be able to go to Costa or Starbucks, to never get on my bus to school, or to stand in the cafeteria eating soggy chips. I may never be able to see the world from 35000 feet, or to see water lapping away on the horizon, maybe I would never see my grandparents again. Maybe I would never be able to live carefree again - or maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't get to live at all. This huge tsunami had come crashing into my life, bringing down the carefully structured plan. You have to try and understand how claustrophobic that was, and still is. We may be past the peak, past the point where 1000 people were dying every single day, but the virus lives on, and the consequences continue. Everyone wears a mask like a contagious invalid - it is the law. Our schools are still closed, and for me, that may affect the rest of my life, and ruin my GCSE's this year - I could fail, or not be able to study at Cambridge. Perhaps I wouldn't get to be a lawyer one day, or perhaps I wouldn't get a job at all. The possibilities are endless - and most have bad outcomes. I feel trapped, in a sense that no matter how much open countryside I look at, I can't shake the feeling that this could be my last birthday, my last summer, my last everything. Right now there are travel restrictions, shopping restrictions, meet-up restrictions, and who knows how long they will last? It's strange how virus, hand sanitiser, ventilators and intensive care become a part of your daily conversation, or the first words that come up whilst texting. That feeling that you are being constantly controlled just doesn't go away - and believe me, it's pretty suffocating. I'm lucky - I live a very rural area, surrounded by hills on one side, and heather stretching up to the horizon. But that doesn't change the fact that I may never be able to walk through Eldon Square again, or shop at the metro centre, or take the train for a weekend in London or Paris. I think, to sum up, the thing that 7 billion people are scared of most is the unknown. We think, or we hope that we have passed the main point of danger - some of us have lost family, some haven't - but the truth is, there may be a second wave, like the Spanish influenza, which could wipe out the world. Or it could tail off. We just don't know what the future holds - all we can do is wear our masks, stay in our homes, and hope we can dance and sing in the streets again. I hope one day I will be able to read my own experiences, but for now all I can do is try to pass them down to future generations, to you.