Broken Sorrows

meeting the plague doctor

   "Tragic, isn't it. A young blood like you kept like this, in solitude and captivity. So young, so fresh." The same voice filled my cell with its monotone sayings.
   Always the same voice, calling out in the pitch black void to me, every single day. Or what I think is a day. Sometimes only once, other days multiple times. I would even try and break free of these dreaded shackles and reach that cooing symphony, only to be strangled back to cold confinement. It would notice and speak the same low tone, "your efforts will be fruitless, they have you, and you're never leaving those chains."
   Finally gathering up the strength to talk back I let loose. "Why are you even talking and how, I didn't think that there were any more sentient specimens here? What do you even do? Why me?" I muttered the last question like a kicked puppy.
   "Why you." It repeated. "Why not you? You are sentient, like me. You can make conversation, have complex emotions, opinions, and ideas. Plus you are a child. I used to have children, but they were taken from me." Sadness seemed to consume its tone, making the air become heavy.          
   Loss of life was all too common in this type of facility, the stench of decay and rot drenched the halls, containment breaches resulting in total and utter bloodshed and chaos. Depression laced each and every human, or as we call them Normies. I've met and killed my fair share of other SCPs, the failed communication attempts blood and what were the body's, painted over my containment cell walls. "I-if I'm not being to intrusive, how did they get taken away?" My voice, shaking with fear.
   "Plague took them from me. Sickness overtook them slowly, their last moments were miserable. Both were begging for death as if it was mercy. Being a doctor back then that specializes in that area, it crippled me from the inside to watch." Voice growing colder and crueler with each sentence, it went on, "I killed them, Reanimated them, hoping to get back the lively little ones I knew and loved. What I got were horrors from Hell. They where hollow corpses of themselves, their only desire was to feed on human flesh. I had to gaze on at them as I killed them for the last time. My reputation as The Plague Doctor started that day and I began to kill by the dozens, then hundreds, thousands, to millions. Now I'm kept here, for some ludicrous scientists to run tests on me and my patients."
   Tears started to brim my eyes. Though the empty void kept me from it, the thought of being able to talk face to face with this SCP had me hoping for a new communication test. Warmth flooded the air as the cell door screamed open. There in the door way stood it, another chance to get out of this saints forsaken cell. The SCP came closer, as it seemed to glide as if it knew no such thing as gravity. A black hooded cloak sheathed its body, and an old Plague mask hid the face. Long knife like claws reached out, almost grazing my skin. Looking beyond it I could see the guards lined up with guns pointing at us. "You can call me the Plague Doctor," it whispered ever so faintly. "What should I call you young blood? Surely it can't just be SCP505. A young blood like you should remember their own name."
   It was impossible to look at it and not be totally intimidated, it- the Plague doctor had done things that were similar to my charges. It has killed, knows the coppery scent of blood, just like me.

   "Grisha, the name's Grisha Retvenko."