The Plague Of London

Clara awoke one morning to find her room completely cleared of her belongings. 

Drowsy as she was, she rolled over on the cold hardwood floor of their 15th-century manor and went back to sleep for a time, relishing the warm sunlight on her face.

 Her midmorning nap was disrupted by the sounds of weeping in the next room. Clara staggered to the door and wrenched it open, prepared to reprimand whoever had interrupted her, but found her mother sitting in front of the fire in an old rocking chair. 

The distraught woman was crying in such a manner that you only see when someone has suffered a terrible loss, and merely the sight of her tugged at Clara's heartstrings. "Mother," said Clara, "why are you crying?". She then glanced down at her mother's lap and found a photo album filled with pictures of Clara, with her twin sister Hailey, and her neighbour and childhood friend, Evangeline. 

Evangeline and Hailey had been sick with plague for several dreadful months and had both passed away recently. This development had obviously taken quite a toll on her mother, who now was muttering. "She was so young," the fraught woman whispered, "she had her entire life ahead of her". Clara desperately looked around the room, trying to find some means to comfort her (still crying) mother. 

She then noticed that all of the paintings had been ripped from the walls leaving gaping holes in the once familiar paisley wallpaper. 

Their large family portrait, which had once sported a gilded gold frame, was now reduced to a charred mass of paper and burnt paint. 

There were broken vases on the ground, their shards sparkling in the early morning light, the sun making them glow as if of some unearthly nature. Clara looked on in horror at what had become of her home and becoming conscious of what this must mean, ran out to the front door.

A dark X marked the door, accompanied by scorch marks; the sign that the plague had torn through this home, and robbed it of its normality. 

Turning her gaze down the row of houses, she found them to be in dilapidated condition also marked with the black Xs on the doors. Clara ran down the road, practically flying past the empty shells, that were once so full of life. She spotted an old man walking in her direction and hurried toward him in search of answers, but he seemed not to see her as he stared right through her and continued walking, and muttering to himself. Clara attempted to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention, but the curmudgeonly fellow still failed to notice her. 

She sensed hot tears starting to form and was unable to blink them away. Her legs felt weak, and she slumped to the ground falling into her subconscious for in her 17 short years she had never felt such despair.

She recalled her memories from age 9. 

Running through fields of flowers with Evangeline, feeling the soft summer breeze on her face. At that time, Clara was the most carefree she had ever been in her life. Her hair whipped back and suddenly the ground opened up beneath her to swallow her whole. Clara screamed in terror and fell into blackness as if her environment understood her feelings, and how she lost all naivety. 

Now she was 13. 

Her older brother was drafted to the army, as she watched powerless and unable to help him. 

Her daydream cut to the day that the letter arrived, notifying his family of their loss. As she resurfaced back to reality, she realized that was how she felt now. 

Alone, without someone to guide her through the nightmare that her life had become within a few short minutes. 

She sat on the side of the road for what seemed like hours, the dark windows of the vacant houses watching her like scornful eyes. As the pale ghostly sun moved across the sky behind the clouds of the overcast sky, casting shadows in the places where there was once clarity, emulating Clara's doubts forming in the back of her mind. 

 The loss of her closet friend and sister wrenched at her heart. All at once, there was a faint sound of footsteps from behind Clara, and she whirled around to find herself face to face with Evangeline.

Evangeline stared blankly into Clara's shocked face. "Hello," whispered Evangeline "long time no see?". "B-bbut, you're dead!!!" Clara stuttered, shocked. 

She blinked twice and rubbed her eyes, wondering if they deceived her. Evangeline took a deep breath, "We have a lot to catch up on, walk with me?". They strolled together down the cobblestone roads that they were so familiar with, remembering life as they knew it, and for a moment, watching the sun disappear on the buildings, everything felt as if it was back to normal. 

As they passed the looming frames of houses whose shadows seemed to suck the warmth and happiness from the air. A church steeple rose like a garish streak against the darkening violet sky. As Clara and Evangeline made their way through the tombstones the eerie silence was deafening. 

"Where is everyone?" asked a frightened Clara as they passed a dusty marble mausoleum with twin gargoyles that seemed to follow you with their piercing stone gaze. "You'll see," answered Evangeline, "We're almost there". 

They weaved between the foreboding shapes of the twin statues that flanked a towering iron gate. The rusty hinges squeaked as a strong wind blew it open, allowing them to enter a dark path lit only by the dying light of the setting sun, which sat atop glowing, pink, fluffy clouds that reminded Clara of cotton candy from the yearly spring fair.

 As they travelled through the twilight, there were no sounds. Even the crunchy autumn leaves were silent as their feet fell upon them. That's strange, thought Clara. Out of curiosity, she picked up a pebble and making sure Evangeline was far ahead on the path, flung it at a tree. The stone hit the tree soundlessly and fell to the ground. 

Evangeline and Clara continued on toward the blue glow that was visible where the trees ended. They finally stepped out into the creepy light, and Clara sharply sucked in a breath.

They had found what looked like a mass grave, the source of the light being the countless souls of the plague victims standing upon the freshly turned earth. Clara looked at Evangeline and saw that she was also glowing. In shock, she looked down at her own hands and realized that with the darkening light, they too were a fluorescent blue. 

Blinding light from above flashed, and Clara realized the reason for the strange events of the day. 

She frantically scrambled through the crowd, as if drawn by some force, and at last reached her cold, bloodied corpse, lying on the ground. A hand on her shoulder beckoned her forward into the light and she, at last, accepted the horrible truth that was in front of her the entire time. She was dead.

The End