Ring Around the Rosies
It smells like posies. Bodies litter the uneven road, decay thick in the air, but the child can only smell the handkerchief of small flowers she presses to her nose. She trudges in the silence that was once hard to come by. Only the wind is left to be mistaken as alive, moaning in the backdrop of ash and fallen buildings. Not even the dogs are around, having long been diced for the hungry.
Death had swept through, collecting the gifts of dying humanity. Rings of rosies had spread, and before they knew it, society was in ruins. It’s fascinating how they despair when faced with their own lack of control. People dropped, falling like the ash rain from when their kinsfolk sent the missiles of the Cleansing, driven hopeless to the point of killing themselves in order to save themselves. Isn’t that so human?
It’s a delightful day. The sky is charcoaled, and the ghosts of what used to be have gone. The child lets out a sob, stumbling on the cracks of rough asphalt. I follow her closely, smiling. This is the last one. Her eyes are red, hair disheveled, chapped lips still murmuring a rhyme.
“Ring around the rosies. Pocket full of posies. Ashes, ashes…”
What a lovely song. It’s a shame it must end, but that’s all things. When the world is fallen, the things within it will also fall. Yet, there’s a beauty in what soon passes. Just like that ring of rosies blossoming black, the lace of last breaths, a searing necklace that brings a metallic taste.
She collapses, a heap among the rest but still breathing and hanging on. The smoke and clouds have hidden the sun, the absence sober instead of melancholic. To think this scape was once a noisy city filled with those willing to trample the flowers instead of appreciate their beauty. Not anymore, dear no. I made sure of that. They all grasped at the time running from them, wishing for what I enjoyed taking.
And as they reached out for a good Samaritan, those on the outside answered with fire. What lies dead in the ashes can’t hurt those living outside the grave. But at what cost?
I’ve already carried out my intentions, so I don’t mind being sealed off. That makes me chuckle because what does that say about this humanity they claim? Not much worse than what they accuse me to be, no?
I wander closer to the child, the last one I shall hold in my arms for a long while, maybe forever. She coughs, freckles of blood shimmering. I crouch down, smiling at the dying youth. Ah, suffering; a consequence, whether or not it's hers to bear is irrelevant. It’s a consequence of the fallen, though.
I breathe in the air. We remain for a ticking time. I hum that rhyme, one from long ago from different voices. Rain pitter patters on the dust and the ravaged creations, cold wind softening the stench. Her posies wilt in her clutching hand, her eyes a mirror of that fading life.
She coughs once more. “Ashes, ashes.”
What a lovely song.
“We all fall down.”
And then complete silence. I kiss her damp forehead. Yes, we all fall down. It’s time for me to go now, too.
Here’s another gift for you, dearest friend. From Black Death to Death.
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