"Mom? Mother?" Even though every inch of my body was screaming for me to stop, I kept shaking her trying to get any sign of her still being alive.
"Mom, please!" I cried out. "Oh god"
With the remaining power in my body I got up on my legs just to lean up against the wall. I looked out and scanned the room. It was nothing like it used to be.
The candles that used to light up every corner were no longer lit, the chimney hadn't been used for days because of the lack of coal and the flowers that were supposed to make people feel welcome in our humble home had all died.
I looked down at my mother just to be met with the reality that I was now completely alone. Her hair was messy with lumps of dried blood and her skin was covered in black dots. I felt like crying but I couldn't. Over the past week, I hadn't done much else than crying.
I hadn't even looked at myself. I didn't have the guts, scared for what I'd see. That meant I couldn't even look at the floor because of the puddles of reflecting water. No one was there to stop the July rain from flooding every house and building. By now, the streets of London were probably cluttered with corpses of the dead and I knew if I saw myself, all I would be able to see was myself lying there. Dead.
Suddenly I started coughing with the feeling of stones being teared up my throat. I covered my mouth with my hand, and for each cough, I tried to fill my lungs up with air again, but it just made me cough even more. As I was feeling dizzy, I glanced at my hand. It wasn't stones, but blood. "Please, God" I whispered to myself.
I had to pray. He had to listen. This couldn't be it.
I pulled myself towards one of the wooden chairs under the dinner table. The floor was of knives with blades as cold as ice and I felt my body getting weaker.
As I was almost there I, out of habit, looked in the direction of the hallway. Before the pestilence had returned, I would always wait for my brother to come home after a full day of hard labour. I always felt bad that he had to work while I was at home. Now, he laid there with a blanket over his head. My brother. My poor baby brother.
While kneeling down with my elbows on the chair I caught myself crying. Yet with no tears. I sank the taste of blood and started my prayer.
"O Jesus, my Lord, and my God.
Be our Comforter in trial, when the storm goes over our heads,
be our Strength in the hour of weakness, and help us to control the desires of the flesh-"
I was interrupted by the sound of the wooden planks, which barely covered the dirt underneath, creaking.
"Hello?" I said out loud. "Who's there?"
I coughed, and with one hand I got myself up on my feet again with the other around my throat, desperately trying to ease the pain.
My head was aching and I felt like throwing up, and for every step I took towards the hallway, I was sure I was going to faint then and there.
As I turned the corner, trying not to look at my brother, I saw the silhouette of a man.
"Are you a doctor? Please, I beg you, you have to help me."
He stepped closer to me and into the light of a small window at the top of the wall. He had dark hair and a confused look in his eyes.
"Is the quarantine discontinued?" I asked forcing the words out of my mouth despite my body telling me it couldn't withhold any longer.
Suddenly it felt like someone was pushing everything inside my body upwards. The only thing I could comprehend at that moment was my throat feeling like it was being torn apart. All I could see was blood. Though in the corner of my eye I saw something else.
My reflection in a pool of water flooding the ground. My neck and face were covered in black dots, and there were these round swollen areas on my skin, just like there were on my mother.
"Lord help me" I thought. The last thing I felt, was the water hitting my face, as I collapsed onto the floor.