Roses
The streets were lonely at night.
Especially with the corpses piling up in the streets.
I deeply inhaled, trying to smell the brisk cold of the winter streets
all I could smell was roses.
This was not inherently a bad smell but after being in this crow shaped mask for 24 hours straight, it almost hurt to smell it.
My pace was heavy as I walked briskly in a straight line. Never once turning around to look at who was uttering the loud sobs that sat stagnant against night fall. I came to my stairs and walked up the stairs with soft steps, my feet making almost no noise as they fell from one stone to another.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
My mother quickly rushed to the door. She was wearing her usual apron but it was covered in thick mud colored crust. Her hair was put into a messy bun that she had carelessly put together so that half the bun was tilted to the left and messy strands where left hanging to the sides of her face.
“Oh thank the good lord your here!” Mother said in an exasperated tone “My daughter has not been ‘ere all day, the brat, I beginnin’ to think she’ll never come back ’ome”
I simply nod, to scared to say anything in fear she would recognize my voice. “Well come in dearie, stay out there an’ you’ll freeze”. I stepped onto the tattered rug into the small room, lit only by the light of a single candle.
I tried to inhale the scent of wet mold and bread I had loved so much as a child.
I could only smell roses
“he’s in ’ere, half dead already, don’t pose ’eres much you can do.”
I walk into the room to see my older brother. His arms were covered with buboes. I touched his forehead lightly as though he would break if I pressed too hard. I could feel the absolute coldness even through my black gloves and quickly removed my hand.
" ’e too far on?” my mother asks
I nod
I see tears in her eyes before she looks away from him. She always was stronger than me. I had started to cry the moment I stepped into the house
“Well ’ake him away. Don’t want em ’ere.”
I nod and step forward. I grab his torso and throw him over my shoulder. Just like he used to do when we were children and we were playing prisoners. I used to scream and pound on his back to let me go
He didn’t .
I started the long journey to the door. My feet scrape the ground as I take small steps forward.
“An’ ” My mother says from across the room “If you see my daughter, tell ’er to come back ’ome”
I nod.
After a long journey of listening to my own footsteps and tuning out screams of mothers, there children taken from them. I finally reach the wagon where they put the bodys. Its old and small so only a few can fit in it. People have started burning them in the streets because of the lack of space in the wagons. He least he wouldn’t burn in the street.
I look down at him for the last time and inhale the scent of rotting corpse.
I let him fall from my arms on to the wagon
He smelled like roses
