I don't own Fever 1793
Mama had been acting strange.
It started with her falling slightly, in the most unexpected times, clutching her stomach. I had seen the pain in her eyes. What do I do? I thought in those moments. Of course after every episode, she would laugh it off, saying she must be getting old.
The stomach pains lasted for a few days. Then Mama started getting glazed looks when she was at the market with me. I believed it was because of the scary possibility that the fever was really in Philadelphia, and she was afraid that we might catch it. When I asked her if yellow fever was really here, she wouldn't even entertain the notion. "Everyone's just getting too paranoid," she had said, and I hadn't asked again.
The heat was sweltering and the mosquitos never seemed to go. Meanwhile, Mama's appetite was seemingly gone. She stopped eating with me at the dining table, and she seemed to be skipping meals. I hadn't really paid attention to that; maybe she was eating when I wasn't around? Yellow fever didn't even cross my mind.
We went to the market one day. Many of the stalls had been closed down because the people had moved away. They were scared of all the people dying. They didn't want to catch the supposed "yellow fever". Mama had seemed distracted, and she kept rubbing at her nose with her handkerchief.
She started shaking right in the middle of the market. She coughed terribly until she threw up something black. Her eyes widened, and she whispered two fearful words, "Yellow fever."
The people who were there packed up and left on spot. No one was left in the market. It was deserted. I could hear the man who came around every few hours, "Bring out your dead!" and when he said that Mama picked Emmy and me, and ran towards the house.
She dropped Emmy in front of the house, and Emmy's face broke open. I started crying, but Mama just hushed me. She was barely supporting my weight, and she fell she got to her bedchamber. Her coughs wracked her frame, and I yelped when I noticed she was crying.
She vomited the black substance again, and she turned to me. She hugged me to her, and told me she loved me. We stayed like that the whole day. She stopped moving after a while, and she wasn't breathing.
When I looked at her, she seemed broken. The handkerchief she had used was covered in blood. Nothing seemed to be inside her. Her eyes were open and staring, but they weren't alert and serious like they usually were. They were blank. She was broken, just like Emmy.
I started sobbing, and begged her to come back, but nothing happened. After a while I stopped talking, and I just sat there huddled against the wall.
The neighbors and other people came in the house, but left me where I sat. Everyone did; except for the final one. A teenage girl came in carrying Emmy.
"Is this yours?" She asked.
I stared at the doll. "Broken," I said.
"Is your mama here? Or your papa? Perhaps they can fix it."
I whispered my answer, but she didn't hear. She stepped closer.
"Mama's broken too," I said.