The Black Death

I am the last surviving member of the Edbourne family. I am left, at seventeen years of age, to fend for myself in this cruel, sad and ending world. It is funny, in an ironic way. Two sunrises ago, I had a family. A mum and a dad, a younger brother and an older sister. Within that short span of time, I have been made an orphan. I have no friends. The Black Death has taken everyone important to me, everyone I loved.

            I am in a church with a few survivors from our village. I don’t know why we have been spared. It doesn’t make any sense to me at all. Frankly, I would rather I was dead. I don’t want to live alone, or not alone, but with people I don’t know, that aren’t my family. The year is 1350. Most people in the surrounding villages are dead. Doctors are estimating that a third of the population is dead thoughout England. And I ask, “God, why don’t you end this disease?”

            As I lie on the cold floor of the church, looking up at the ceiling, I ponder what I will do. If I don’t die, (which seems most likely) I will probably end up being sent to work for some farmer by the pope of our church.  I really want to be a knight, but I know that dream is ridiculous. I am not even of a noble family. But perhaps, which so many dead…. Inwardly I kicked myself for thinking so darkly. It was cruel and wicked to use the deaths of so many for one’s personal gain. I had just heard one of the doctors rebuke a noble for talking so the other day.

            Rats run by me as I lay still. Stupid, stinking rats. They caused all this trouble to begin with. Mostly likely they are the ones causing this horrible disease. I kicked one of them as it ran by my feet, and it yelped, and ran into a corner. A girl scrubbing the floor on the other side of the room glared at me. I glared back. I didn’t see why I shouldn’t kick the rats. I sat up and pulled myself next to the wall.

            I rubbed the back of my head. My hair used to be past my ears, but I had to have it cut short. Apparently it was supposed to keep bugs out and somehow reduce the risk of infection. I like it, but it is different, and will take some getting used to. That must be why it was so itchy. I rolled my shoulders and rubbed my back against the wall.

            The girl scrubbing came over and looked at me critically. “How do you feel?”

            “Fine, why?”

            “Stand up and turn around.” I did so, confused.

            “Oh my God,” she said, “you have it.”

I wrote this last year for school. I know it's not very good, but I thought I'd post it anyway.