Plague Of Man

Melana

Melana walked almost as if in a trance through the thick vegetation that surrounded the edge of the village with the rustle of yellowing leaves. She neither knew where she had just come from or where it was she was even supposed to be going, only that For some unexplained reason she felt as if she knew the small village, Knew this little village better than she knew of her home village, wherever that was. The village bore many of the same features as the one she had grown up in. The thick clay bricks that made up the small huts had the signature hand pressed look she was accustomed to and the smell of pigs hung in thick in the air like a highwayman's warning to passerbys, but she did not know this village's name nor did she know where she was at exactly. All she seemed to be aware of was that she belonged at this unnamed place, no, to this unnamed place upon which map she did not know. The mud clung to her feet like quicksand as she made her way forward, she tried to look upwards to see the position of the sun to find it hiding behind the clouds.

Never there when you need it she thought to herself as she walked the empty streets aimlessly like an arrow without an archer. Where was everyone? she again thought to herself as her eyes fell upon a curious looking squat house. The first thing she noticed was the fact that It had one window, or had at one time had a window, now shattered. The only place she had seen glass used on something so frivolous was when she had rode with her father to the city for medicine for their pigs which were at the time dropping like flies to disease. Everyone in the city had glass windows, Or at least the houses and shops she had seen, even the poor looking buildings had them.

The window on this house however just didn't match the rest of the house, the house itself was standard mud brick and thatch roof. Even if its shape was arguably crooked, the owner of such a thing was a craftsman of sorts she was sure of it, who ever owned the hut knew how to work with glass. What was most confusing of all however was she did not see a forge or fire pit. Melena however became quickly entranced, forgetting the unlikeliness of such circumstances and was seemingly drawn to the structure like a fawn to feed , surely the owner was not here and who was going to stop her, everyone left. Maybe plague had struck. But if that was the case why were the pigs still in their pens? Melena whipped around with a surprising quickness to confirm the pigs were in fact still here only to see a sight that confused her. The pigs were not pigs. She turned to see three soldiers on their hands and knees in the mud.

"What are you doing?", Melena shouted to the men. The men stopped and their heads snapped simultaneously towards her, faces covered by riding scarves and helmets. Simultaneously the three men stood up and stared at her In unison like some sort of perverted stage act.

"That little bitch is judging us", the middle said

"How dare she, its not like we can control our nature," the left said

"Teach her?," the right said

"Teach her," they all three said simultaneously taking steps toward Melena.

Melana rushed towards the house almost instinctively. The mud turned to hard packed dirt that sent painful shockwaves up her calloused feet the closer she got to the house, In her frenzy Melana ran into the door and began pounding frantically on the splintered wood. Fear rising like hot air in her restricting throat. She looked back to see the men all in sync walking towards her. Melana let out a frightened sob as a tear fell down her cheek.

She felt a pair of icy hands wrap around her neck and slowly squeeze, the overly long yellowed nails digging into her throat, the restricted air she was receiving smelled like rotten meat and sweat."GET OFF OF ME!" Melena screamed as she punched the door in desperation.

Pain radiated through her knuckle as the splintered wood, almost out of spite cut her hand. The soldiers' hands however were gone. Melena whipped around to find the attacker the same way a deer looks for the hunter. close to a breakdown searching wildly for the would be attackers. She felt her neck and began shaking. A tiny drop of blood fell from her cut hand and inaudiblly struck the smooth packed dirt at the threshold of the house. As it landed three loud knocks sounded from the other side of the door, the blows landed so heavily the house shook from the shockwaves and the house groaned like an old man in the winter weather with each blow, and the door swung open so violently that it cut through the air with an audible whoosh and struck the wall behind it so violently it sounded off like a crashed kitchen cart.