Zdantesmark



Dante walks through the rain from the infirmary to his house, about three hundred yards. His house is a small blue one, with two stories and many windows. The steps leading up to the front door were worn and gray. The hand rail, black and ornately decorated, was on the right side of the path way. As slippery as the steps were, it did not stop twenty-four year old Dante from skipping a step and landing right on the porch. He shook the water from his black hair and clothing before taking off his shoes and entering the house. As he opened the door, the sweet aroma of his mother’s cooking entered his nose and made his mouth water. He waved hello to his mother and father before going up the stairs that led to his room. His room, painted in yellow, was shared with his wife, Mariella. She was four years his junior, and had lived near the family her whole life. Mariella lay on the bed that she and Dante shared, writing in her journal. She looked up as he entered and watched him remove his work scrubs and change into a brown shirt and jeans. They said nothing to each other, as though there was an argument between them, but they smiled at each other. “Dinner,” called Dante’s mother from the foot of the steps. Dante heard his brother, whose room was across the hall, loping down the stairs. He had it easy. Dante’s younger brother, Loki, age sixteen, was still attending the school that was located in their area. It was an all boys school, not far from the boarding school that housed all females. There were strange rumors about what happened at the girl’s school, but Loki never mentioned it. He was often found by Dante while trying to sneak out to go to the boarding school to visit a girl he had met once, but was never turned in. Dante knew that Loki would have to learn the value of work, but he didn’t want to push him into it. “How was everybody’s day?” asked Dante’s father, staring at Loki, who was not eating. “Very good,” Dante replied, wondering what to say about the rising numbers of patients in the infirmary. “How was work?” “Very busy. We’ve gotten many patients, all from families involved at the Machine Shop. They all have the same symptoms, but I have no idea what it is. All of the other doctors are working on finding out what it is. They’ve run tests on the blood…but I don’t know. It’s all very strange, really.” “What type of symptoms?” asked Mariella, speaking for the first time since Dante had gotten home. “Well, first they all started with stomach pains, and then head aches that wouldn’t go away…suddenly they start dropping weight and then throwing up blood…it’s all gruesome, really. And all this is happening in just a matter of days. I mean…as many people as we have coming in every day, half as many are dying in the infirmary. There’s nothing we can do for them once they get to a point. We’ve learned that once they have this weird swelling on the neck and chest that there is no hope. We can try to pretend that it’s something else, but once they swell…there is nothing we can do. The Martins? Both their little girls passed away today, and Mr. Martin is in the hospital now. His wife and son seem to have no symptoms, however.” “That’s very….you say, it starts with stomach pains?” asked Dante’s mother, looking intently at him while still eating her dinner. “Yes ma’am,” Dante replied, scooping the mashed potatoes with his fork and then bringing it to his mouth. “Mariella here has been having stomach pains all day, and even her head has started to hurt…you don’t think it could be this infection, do you?” “Ma, it’s nothing…” Mariella said to her mother-in-law, giving her a look telling her to shut up. Dante, his face very concerned, looked at his wife, who refused to meet his eyes. He said to her, “My dove, I can bring you home some medications if you would like me to…just give me the word." Dante sat against the wall, having barely been able to crawl all the way from his home to the infirmary. He was exhausted, mud covering his body. All he had on him was a knife, very little food, and the picture of Mariella that was taken on their wedding day. His family had left him to die, intent upon reaching the holy land without him. He carved her name, Mariella into the ground. Beside it, on the wall, he scratched off all the people that he could remember that had died, scratching crosses into the wall. He left five of them uncrossed, one for his mother, father, Loki, Mariella, and Mariella’s unborn child. He prayed that they would make it safe.  He felt dead, hardly able to move, rotting from the inside. He was starving and burning in the sun. There was nobody around to find him, they had all either died or left. He was the only one still there…he didn’t know what to do with himself…He was already sure that his death was soon to come…soon. Soon.