The Plague

"I sit, now, at the top of the highest hill in this flat and man-made jungle. This city – it ought to be a cherished thing, to my kind. Thousands upon thousands of succulent, pulsating bodies, with thick blood flowing through their veins. If only it were that simple.

It isn’t. You’d think – you really would – that a race ‘immortal’ as ours would be a little less susceptible to a simple human virus. Living in the slums of the cities, where one less broken and hopeless body would never be missed, taught us a lot about frailty, theirs and ours. Many, no, most of us that lived down there lost hope at some point, seeing the masses writhing in the streets, feeding on whatever scraps were thrown from the mansions on the hill. Most of us gave up, long before now.

But then the Plague came. At first it was okay, maybe only a few of them had it, and it was more obvious. We still fed on some of them, and it never hurt us. But this Plague was not willing to stay dormant. In a place where drugs, sex, and fighting were the only ways to fight the boredom, a disease with so many ways to be passed on travels quickly. Soon, maybe five years at the most, half of them had the plague, and were just waiting to die. But we were safe, as always.

Then things changed. Somehow, I don’t know how, the Plague changed, and we were affected. At first, no one made the connection. But we were dying, in amazing numbers. These were no stake-through-the-heart deaths, either. These were deaths that took days or even weeks. Once one contracted the Plague, they were quickly weakened, and made unable to feed. One’s skin, pale already, would turn grey and sore, and then fever set in. Delirium, pain, and worse, weakness. We had never before felt weakness. That alone was enough to drive many of the affected ones to madness.

Those of us that were affected died quickly, in a different way from the ‘mortals’, but still painfully. Soon we were a scant few, scattered across a world far to big. Millions, then thousands, then hundreds, then dozens, and our numbers still fell. Many were afraid to feed at all, and went mad from the hunger. But worse went the fate of those who fed, so the choice for most was easy.

I gave in to my hunger, last night. I can already feel the plague eating away at my strength. Or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Either I’ll die with one last look at the sun, and maybe a chance of deliverance, or I go mad with hunger, or I die weak and alone and in pain. My choice is simple, really.

I timed it well. My story is over, and the first light of the dawn is creeping over the mountains. It will be over, soon. He will forgive me. He must. I am His child, and He loves me. Oh Lord! The sun! It’s so beautiful! I can’t describe it. Just, please, forgiv…