She walks alone in the dank, dirty street of a forgotten city. The candles that once burnt in the windows of all the homes have long since gone out. As she walks, the wind can be heard whistling through the empty windows of the old church. This is what she is here for; what she has waited for. With some trepidation, her footsteps creep forward towards the neglected churchyard. The steeple still points high towards the black sky above her. Everything is the same, yet everything is different. The silence is oppressing, and the memories overwhelming.
He used to run down Main Street after school chasing Anne. I can still see her blonde pigtails streaming out behind her as she struggled to run in her calico dress. He'd always catch her. Tickling always seemed to have a special effect on Anne. I'd watch them from the corner of Main and Chestnut while waiting for Charlotte to arrive.
The door of the church creaks open in the wind. Her breath catches in her throat, and she freezes. Her heart beats wildly against her chest. A few minutes pass, and she seems to shake the fear from her. Her hand reaches out to the doorknob, and she grabs it. Holding the door steady, she steps into the sanctuary. Walking forward, she picks up a Bible from the pew, and blows the dust from its cover. She opens it, and reads the passages he had read.
"Is there not a time of hard service for man on earth?
Are not his days also like the days of a hired man?
Like a servant who earnestly desires the shade,
And like a hired man who eagerly looks for his wages,
So I have been allotted months of futility,
And wearisome nights have been appointed to me.
When I lie down, I say, 'When shall I arise,
And the night be ended?'
For I have had my fill of tossing till dawn.
My flesh is caked with worms and dust,
My skin is cracked and breaks out afresh. '
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle,
And are spent without hope.
Oh, remember that my life is a breath!
My eye will never again see good.
The eye of him who sees me will see me no more;
While your eyes are upon me, I shall no longer be.
As the cloud disappears and vanishes away,
So he who goes down to the grave does not come up.
He shall never return to his house,
Nor shall his place know him anymore."
I had thought it was ironic enough that the passage was from Job. It was the last thing he ever read. That night he had been struck with a fever that never left him. He slipped in and out of delirium, until he finally passed on. He was my only true love, and I never really recovered after that. It was maybe a few days later that the casualties started to pour in. The complaints were always the same: the fever, then, if the person suffered long enough, the skin would turn yellow and the breath would become labored. It wasn't a matter of when you would get better; it was a matter of just how long you were going to suffer. Charlotte's family was the first to pack their bags and leave the death town.
She closes the Book and walks to the graves outside. There are so many of them. All are marked by simple stones arranged in straight lines.
Anne was crying as Mother threw things into our old wagon.
She walks down the lines, occasionally seeing a familiar name.
The horses pulled the wagon away. Anne screamed, reaching out for me.
Finally she comes to the name she was looking for, and kneels down before it.
I watched our wagon fade away into the distance.
She places a single rose on the grave. As the first light of morning peeks over the steeple and filters through the dusty windows, she evaporates into nothing more than an old memory.
Some say that a spirit will linger upon the earth until they have completed their purpose. In this case, I would say they were right. She had finally gone home.