When the pestilence was announced on the five-o-clock news, we remained in doors. No one went out into the streets and cities grew dim of life, the way a light bulb grows dim in its final hours. No one is out on the streets, save for the military armed with rifles and other armaments. Upon their faces, gas masks, black and dark. No one knows what stimmed the disease or where it originated. It just showed up like an unwelcomed guest. Inside the house are my father who is ill with the disease, my mother, my sister, her boyfriend and myself. We have isolated our dad upstairs so as not to catch the disease ourselves.
I don’t understand it. He was a picture of health, even for a man in his fifty-ninth year. Broad shoulders, stood five foot twelve, ate healthy, he was in normal health. I suppose that is what the disease does to you. It takes away everything you are and altars you, changes you. I couldn’t bare to look at him when he caught it. He looks like a…a zombie if you will. No this disease doesn’t make you a zombie. They said the symptoms were hypothermia, excessing coughing, and the decay on skin tissue. That was only on the outside. Inside, the disease works at the kidneys and the liver, doing something to your blood. We run the vents to keep ourselves and our father warm. I took the liberty of filling the bathtubs both upstairs and down. With the disease sweeping the cities there’s no telling when the water will be cut off.
I hear some rattling over by the cabinet. It is my sister’s boyfriend. He is her first boyfriend outside of her race. He’s in his late twenties, African-American and stands the same height as my sister, who is five-foot ten. I’m glad that he decided to wear what he’s wearing. The red hoody he has on will keep him warm and the white khakis seem comfortable on him. My sister, Elena, will keep him warm too, it’s obvious they cuddle as they are a couple. She is in her mid-twenties. Her brunette hair reaches past her shoulders and she has made sure her figure is slim. She’s a total exercise freak. She bears a striking resemblance to our mother when she was young. My mother is two years older than dad. Gray is starting to show in her hair much to my chagrin.
When my sister’s boyfriend finishes looking in the cabinet, he has in his hand some fruit snack and an Arizona tea. I swear that man eats like a bird. Last night the only thing he had was three bowls of cereal.
“Did you save some for me,” I ask.
“Yes of course,” he replied. “I’d always leave some for you.”
With that, he went back to my sister’s room located across from mine. Our rooms are downstairs while our parents are upstairs. I turn on the television and was quickly greeting by the newswoman telling us that Cranberry is still under martial law.
“And the president has just announced that Cranberry, PA and cities surround Cranberry will be under quarantine until further notice.”
I suddenly became stiff with fear. What will happen? The military already started taking guns away from law abiding citizens, now we’re under quarantine?! Fortunately, we still have our means of protection. We had kept our guns secret. We weren’t about to hand our guns over to police and have no means of defending ourselves.
I was snapped back into focus by the coughing of dad upstairs. Quickly I put on a surgeons mask and rushed upstairs. Opening the door I found that my mother was already there without her mask on knelling beside him holding his hand. I shut the door behind me so as to keep the air from inside the room from flowing out into the rest of the house.
“Mom please go back downstairs. I’ll take care of him.”
Without a word she does what she is told. I catch a glimpse of her wiping her nose but I don’t think anything of it.
“Are you ok dad?” I ask sitting beside him. I look down upon him and the disease has taken a turn for the worst. The skin on his left cheek was showing signs of decoy. I covered my eyes as I looked away. This was a very sad sight to behold. I told myself that he was a fighter, he would pull through and he would be back on his feet healthy and stronger than ever! Looking at him again however, told of another outcome. He never answered my question, only moaned in excruciating pain as he took in a breath of air. I got up and left the room, unable to see him in the state he was in.
“Is he okay?” came Elena’s voice from below the stairs.
“No he’s not,” I said as I walked down the steps. She tried to go up to see him but I held her back. “No Elena, you don’t want to catch what he’s got.”
“Seth he’s my dad too! I’m going upstairs to see him okay!?”
“Then at least wear a mask. And be prepared for the worst, you won’t like what you’ll see.”
Her boyfriend is right beside her. No wonder she loves him so much, he never leaves when she needs him the most. As they walk up the stairs he’s holding her hand which makes me glad that she found someone such as he. I go to my room to escape temporarily from the drama unfolding. I shut the door behind me and walk over to the shelf on the right-hand side of my room. There is a yearbook resting on the second layer of my shelf. I open the year book and rummage through, remembering my days in school. I look through my senior class and come across a man whom had taken great pleasure in tormenting me throughout my years in school. Andrew Pursely.
He was smiling his trademark cocky smile as he held a football in his hand. Seeing him made those painful memories return. The name calling, the put-downs, the bullying, even my back throbbed with the pain tackled me all those years ago.
A rage that had been building up inside began to manifest thoughts of him, of what would happen to him if I ever met him again. Outside I could hear the military ordering people to stay in their homes or be detained. That seemed to beat back the grudge I was feeling. My sister’s boyfriend would call this, “Grage”, because of the grudge you have which eventually turns to rage, clouding your thoughts. It is turning dark outside, signaling me to grab yet another book to pass time. I here army vehicles pass by the house and shortly after, a small knock at the door. This knock sounded scared and frantic so I picked up my pistol, just in case, and hurried to the door. Before I open the door and hide the pistol behind me so as not to scare the person at the door. When I open it, my stomach is given permission to churn.
“Oh my God Seth Wellick!?”
“Andrew,” I say icily, feeling that “Grage” emerge from the depths of my being.
“Thank God I found someone I know! Please, I’m out of food and my-”
“Andrew!” I almost raise my voice. I didn’t want to startle my family inside the house so I try my best to keep my voice low. “You’re asking me for help aren’t you? Me, the wussy, for help.”
Recognition and horrific remembrance reveal themselves. I could feel his mouth growing dry as he realized the position he was in. Andrew didn’t look like the lady killing athlete he was back in school. His pathetic frame shown his clothes tattered with mud and blood, indicting a fight somewhere along the way. His blonde hair was caked with dirt and the folds of his pockets were out. He must have been robbed by some people desperate for something of value. Is he sick with the disease? I hope so. The sight of this brought an unholy joy to me, to finally see one of my tormentors come to me in their lowest point of their lives.
“Look,” he began, his voice staggering, his hands cupped together as if in prayer. “I know what I did to you during our school years but please, please I’m begging you help me!”
I step out of the house, shut the door and raise my pistol in his face. His eyes are now wide with fear.
“You have some nerve coming here begging for MY help Andrew! You think I give two shits about your problems now!? “Your mom should have swallowed, would’ve been one less wuss in the world.” I remember those words very well! I remember how you tackled me against the stair railing in the tenth grade, causing a disk to move in my spine, causing me great pain! You remember everything don’t you!?”
His hands are up now, trying to plead with me.
“I’m sorry okay! I’m sorry!”
“NOT AS SORRY AS YOU’RE GONNA BE!” I thunder. Reality turns different in that instant. It’s like I’m watching someone else pull the trigger. A bright red hole opens in his kneecap as he screams in pain. Someone else has control over my body. This isn’t me, who is this person kicking Andrew in the face and rolling him over with his foot? Why is Andrew screaming so loudly? A second red hole opens up, this time in his back. What did he say, that he couldn’t feel his legs? It isn’t possible, that someone as nice and caring like me could do this to someone.
“Help meeee!” he shrieks loudly. He lays there unmoving, blood seeping from his wounds and onto the ground below him. I hear the door open and hear the voice of my sister’s boyfriend as well as her gasp of shock, realizing what I had just done.
“Seth no,” he says, his voice evident with disbelief. “What happened?”
Andrew is weeping uncontrollably as my sister’s boyfriend rushes from the steps to help Andrew. I feel the gun drop from my hand as he talks about his daughter threw his tears and I am back to my normal caring self.
“His five-year old daughter needed food because they ran out! She’s grown sick do you understand?! Sick!”
I always helped those who needed help. Hearing Andrew in pain took away what strength I had and I slumped to my knees in abject shock at what I had done. My sister’s boyfriend said it best; “Holding a grudge is like poisoning yourself. If bottled long enough, it can give birth to grage, cloud your mind.”
Only now did I understand what he meant. I had been so focused on what he had done to me, that I lost track of what really mattered. The here and now. I had not seen him since high school and I may had already been in a position higher than he. As I hear the sounds of the military vehicles creep nearer to our home, my mind doesn’t fail to remind me of what has and what will occur. My grudge against Andrew has jeopardized my family’s lives as well as the life of Andrew and his family. The military will come in their squeaky-clean white suits so as not to catch the disease themselves and haul us away. They will confiscate our guns and try us for disobey military law. Father will most likely succumb to the disease. These things will occur and it’s my fault. I hear the sound of breaks squeaking to a stop. They are here with their guns trained on us! Those men with masks move quickly into the house, ignoring my sister’s shrieks of terror and confusion.
“Down on the ground sir, now!” he says, his voice sounding that of robot behind the mask. I’m frozen stiff as I watch them haul my sister’s boyfriend into the truck filled with several people. I feel the butt of the rifle against my check followed by the earth below me. As handcuffs are placed roughly upon my hands I hear myself say; “I’m sorry everyone. I’m so sorry.”
Sorry isn’t going to fix anything. I let my grage ruin everything and now I must suffer the consequences.
“You’re in a lot of trouble mister,” they say to me as I’m hauled in the back.
I look on as Andrew is being lifted into an ambulance. I cry for him and my family.
“I’m so sorry.”
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