RuinedThe night was cold, and the immediate howl of screaming filled my head. I wandered over to the limestone wall, wishing that my parents were with me on the not infected side. Smallpox. It was killing everyone in its path. My family. My friends. Even our beloved dog, Blacky. We were at a camp. It was called Woodman Point. The days seemed endless, but as night fell, we all feared what was in store for us the next day.
All I could think about were my parents. On the other side of the camp, deep in despair. We were all so happy when papa bought the new farm in London, but that all changed when my two sisters, Charlotte and Jillian became ill. Mama insisted on nursing them herself, but soon they both passed away. Then, my worst fear came true. Mama and papa both fell terribly ill, and we were sent here, to Australia, where they would get better treatment.
I haven’t seen them since December last year. It’s June now, and the chances of Mama and Papa still being alive isn’t very high, but choose to believe. Even though my family is not with me, I am thankful. I have made new friends that have helped me through the tough times. Johnny and Melanie are the two most trustworthy, honest people I have met since leaving England.
I had a dream last night. I was there, with Charlotte and Jillian. We were playing by the oak tree, waiting for Mama to call us back inside for dinner.as the sun started to set, the three of us sat down, and gazed at the pink, fluffy clouds slowly moving across the orange sky. Jillian, the youngest, gently rested her head on my leg, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
“She’s only two.” whispered Charlotte. She tucked a few whips of hair behind her ear, and started to stroke Jillian’s hair. There was a slight creak of the back door, and out came mama. Her almond brown hair toppled down her back as her emerald green eyes glistened on the sunset.
“Dinners ready my poppets.” She whispered. Slowly, and carefully, she picked up Jillian, and held her over her shoulder. As Charlotte and I walked in, the delicious scent of chicken roast filled the room. But that was when I woke up to the sound of yelling and screaming outside.
I ran into the eerie darkness of the night. There was a man, being dragged away, and his wife was trying to break free from the two armed soldiers grasp. She was screaming for the man, who was being dragged into the direction of the incinerator room. I felt sorry for the woman. I slowly wandered back to my bed, but as I lied down, a thought hit me.
That man must have been infected. What if, what if they took mama and papa to the incinerator room as well?? No, they couldn’t have. As the night went on, the thought of mama and papa being dragged off to the incinerator room haunted me. As the sun rose, the morning routine began. First, all of the not infected people went to the washrooms to freshen up. Then, we were all taken to the medical treatment area to make sure that none of us had caught the Smallpox overnight. There was a small boy, about three years younger than me, who was rapidly shaking when it was his turn to be checked. The doctor gave him a small smile, but then frowned as he started the check-up.
The doctor yelled out,
“Cover yer’ mouths!” he cried. From that very moment, everybody knew why the boy had looked so worried before his check-up. The boy had positive signs of Smallpox. The boy started to weep in his hands as the guards approached.
“Come on ye rascals!!” called a harsh voice. It was the dorm leader. We called him Sir, but his real name was Eduard Fernandez. His parents were both from France, but he was born in Scotland, hence his gruff Scottish accent.
He didn’t look happy at all. His long thick orange bead sat in position proudly, boy had been taken away, there was murmuring as he stormed across the small patch of grass. By then the young as the guards dragged him away.