Under a Forest of Stars

 

Like the cool breeze, a man shrouded in darkness quietly entered the room; and as if he was but a specter, only the drapes and the air around him seemed to acknowledge his existence.  He was a man who left a chilled silence behind him everywhere that he went, leaving not so much as a lingering breath or muted footfall wherever he passed.  For those who deal in death, in time, become like spirits themselves; never again able to join the boisterous world of the living.  That’s why he now called himself Charon, although it was a name he, and he alone, knew--he had no other.

 

Across the room, cast in his shadow under the glow of the city’s light, lay a sleeping woman.  Drawing close, careful to not disturb her, he lowered his ear to her breast; her breath was shallow--he did not have much time.  A gentle smile which embodied those feelings of loss crept across his face.  These feelings… it wasn’t a sensation he enjoyed, but he had come to accept it as just another part of his duty; he could no longer imagine life any other way.  Resting his hand on her face, he looked deep into the wrinkles which hung under her eyes; and breathing in deeply, he tried to calm himself.  This was not the time, nor the place, for him to lose his composure.

 

She coughed, a racking fit of convulsions which shook the hanging air in the haunted room.  Realizing that he couldn’t pass unseen in the city streets otherwise, he pulled a syringe from his pouch and carefully measured the dose to give her an uninterrupted rest.  Without hesitation, he then injected the sedative; she should no longer make a noise.  He stood there for a few moments: taking in the air, the scene before him, her form, the rise and fall of her breast…  Gently hoisting her out of the bed and onto his shoulders, he couldn’t help but notice how abnormally light she had become--so different than he had remembered her all those years prior. 

 

Walking quietly to the window, subconsciously shifting his weight with each step so that the floorboards wouldn’t make so much as a creak, he then lowered the woman into the cart below--a cart filled with several other victims.  Then, just as he had with all the others, he returned to the bed and meticulously folded the sheets as if it had never been slept within.  Pulling out a rose he placed it upon the covers, alongside which he left a small note, “Remember me as I was.”  With a bittersweet smile he turned and, as he had throughout life, left without a trace.

 

Adjusting the hay in the cart, so that those inside would be unseen by wandering eyes, Charon let out a sigh, this was the last of them.  Taking the handcart, and lowering his straw hat, Charon inconspicuously made his way through the empty streets which a mere year earlier would have been overflowing with people, even at this hour.   Now those very streets were deserted except for the few who isolated themselves in the cloisters and alleys; so many had fallen victim to the unseen scourge.  Even with the echoing squeak of the wheels, no one paid mind to the lone man who slowly guided his cart along the deserted streets; it was not him they had to fear.  Charon left the city and its melancholic lights, drifting pass the gates unnoticed; like a breeze which ripples through the grass.  Seen and felt, yet going unnoticed by each blade it passes through.

 

It was an hour-long journey out of town, but to Charon, the grove of trees were worth it.  The city and its surrounding fields had been built generations ago, and now, trees were rare on this vast plain.  To him, it was a forest of wonder; the only he had ever seen.  Even a mere dozen trees can be a forest for those who have never seen one.  It was a special place for him, a place where he would not be interrupted, and where he could do his job in silence--that was important to him.  Bringing the cart to a rest, he slowly unloaded the bodies in his cart; there were fewer than in the days past--only five of them.  How long would it be, until the city died out completely?

 

With a sigh, Charon returned to the wagon; now was not the time to dwell on such things, he had a long night’s work ahead of him.  Seizing his bladed spade, Charon picked out a spot that he had yet to use, and began carving, hacking, digging.  It was long arduous work, but the type of repetitive work which makes it easy to forget your thoughts--without moments like this, Charon would have gone mad by now.  When even your dreams are plagued, it is only in waking moments like this that you can find comfort and rest.

 

Dawn was almost upon him, the dark sky already showing traces of indigo as the stars at the horizon began to fade.  Looking down at his handiwork, Charon sighed, 'It would have to be good enough'--four shallow pits.  The first victim, an elderly man Charon vaguely remembered as fruit vendor; he carefully lowered him into one of the pits.  Next came a couple, abnormally young, who had been in the same bed together--Charon had collected them both--so Charon deposited them both within the same pit.  If one would share a bed, then they should share a grave.  Then came the child, he must have been six or seven, there were so few children left…

 

Finally, the woman.  Charon lingered longer here than he had the others.  Yes, he was almost out of time, but in moments like this, just a few more moments make all the difference.  Reaching down, he ran his hand gently along her cheek, feeling the flickering warmth for a last time.  She stirred.  Charon’s brows furrowed, did he not give her enough?  Reaching into his pocket for the syringe, he readied another dose.  But as he went to inject it, her hand weakly grasped his arm--stopping him.  Looking down at her, he locked eyes with familiar frosted-eyes; even as he knew that she had no idea who he was.

 

“I’m afraid,” she weakly rasped, and while her grasp was feeble, Charon could tell that she was holding onto him with the last of her fading strength. 

 

Charon leaned in close, and whispered, “Your family.  They won’t have to see this, they will remember you as you were, not as you are now.” 

 

She wheezed weakly; her grasp slackened, but she did not let go.  She tried to raise herself, but such a thing was beyond her, and so she collapsed to the ground, gasping with each labored breath.  Between breaths she sobbed, a pathetic display, “I don’t want this…”

 

Charon lowered his head, and then locking again with her trembling eyes, replied, “Neither do I.” before sinking the needle within her vein.  As her convulsions lessened, he whispered out those hollow words that he knew would never matter, “But you’re not alone.”

 

When at last she grew still, and what little color had remained in her pallid cheeks had faded, Charon gingerly lowered her into the final grave. 

 

Charon filled four graves as he had so many under the peeking gaze of the Sun’s early rays.  And with the last bit of dirt packed over those shallow graves, Charon spoke as much to himself as to no one, “How can I not remember?”  It was then, and only then, at the end of the long night, that Charon’s composure broke at last.

 

Looking up through the boughs of the forest at those final fading stars, with tears quietly streaming down, Charon couldn’t help but mourn that when the plague took him at last, there would be no one to bury him here…

 

Under a Forest of Stars.

 

Reviews

[Woody]

captivating to say the least. many have written about the plague but your personal touch shows here, makes it different and special. the descriptions and word choice are, as usual, impeccable.
the MC (good name!) is compssionate and humane, things we sorely lack in these troubled times of ours.

[Nusquam Esse]

Glad you liked it, as I said before, this was one of the more accessible ones (ironically it is also less read than most)

[Will Neill]

Ease, you so very kindly reviewed my stories and I never returned the favour. I chose this one because I wrote a story similar to it a few years ago called the Grave Digger. It too was set during the plague. But I must say yours was much better.I never posted it and it got lost on a computer that crashed on me...but I digress.
I really enjoyed this, and hope to read more of your work soon.
Will....I'm not the grammar police so I read as it is.
Take care.

[Nusquam Esse]

This was originally a collaborative project, I came up with this premise because I thought it was simple, but had potential if done right. My partner ultimately fell through, but I didn't want to just scrap the idea, so I went ahead and wrote it as my own. Glad that you enjoyed this one! Thanks for dropping by Will

[DaughterNature]

This is interesting as an idea, although there is not much to set it apart from other similarly-themed stories and books. I kept waiting for some indication that the effects of the plague left victims as horribly disfigured or otherwise in a way that their relatives would rather not remember them, hence the "Remember me as I was" notes. Further, the hopelessness Charon feels at the end does not really make sense, since all plagues have at least a few survivors (genetic variation tells us that at least a few organisms are always strong enough to resist poison or disease, and so go on to replicate and produce stronger offspring). Like I said, interesting idea, but I think it might be a better prologue to a book then as a stand-alone story.

[Mysana]

I enjoyed reading this. It has feelings of suspense, regret, and mystery. I love the main characters feeling of monotony and melancholy. Good job.

[just Penny]

You orientate the reader really well in the opening paragraph. I like the mystery and was interested to see what might happen. The contrast of strength and frailty in the two characters fuelled the suspense. I never expected the story to end how it did ! Nicely done. Penny

[Author Rucha Joshi]

This is beautiful!
The choice of words is marvelous!
I loved it!