I Counted My Blessings, Now I'll Count This Curse

Harold Abraham Scott Roberts
1628 - 1665
Anna Sophie Caroline Roberts
1630 - 1665
Sapphire Mary Josephina Roberts
1649 – 1665

I stared at the piece of paper.
The paper that said that I was dead, just like my parents, Harold and Anna Roberts. The paper that lied.
But I’m sure the people in the hospital in London didn’t lie on purpose. Of course not, how would they know I was still alive if no one knew?
Well, I guess someone knows.
The person that did this to me knows.
The person that gave me this lonely life.
The person I hated with all my being.

--

London, 1665.
“They say that horrible disease is coming our way Harold, shouldn’t we flee?” My mother, Anna, asked my father, Harold. He sighed.
“Darling, please. That mysterious disease is not anywhere near us now, and it will probable never be. And even if it would hit London, you should not be worried. I am sure the people are extravagant about it.”
“But Harold, it has killed thousands of people overseas! I cannot not worry!” My mothers voice was a little hysterical, or so it sounded where I stood, in the kitchen.

My father and mother were talking in hushed voices in the sitting room. I was sure that the reason why they were speaking so quietly was because I was not supposed to hear what they were saying. I guess they failed at that.

It took me the littlest of difficulty to hear every single word they spoke.

I had also heard about this disease. Everyone in town was talking about it. Until now, it hadn’t really bothered me, but the fact that my mother was worried about it had to mean that it really was important.

My mother was calm in the most horrible situations. Well, she was very good at hiding her panic in the most horrible situations. When my sister died, I was a mess, my dad was a mess. But my mother seemed to not be influenced. She took control of the family until my father was able to do it again.

She tuned out all her emotions.

This is why it surprised me so much that she was now panicking. Was this disease that bad? Was it really coming closer to London, our hometown? Could it kill us all?

I dropped the potato I was peeling, and inched towards the door to hear the conversation better.

“Anna, love, trust me. The disease will not strike London, we will not die and we will grow old together, the three of us.” My father said.
My mother opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again when my father got up and made his way to the kitchen, where I was.

I retreated back to the sink and grabbed the potato I was peeling.

“Sapphire, why don’t you go to the market to see if they have some food left?” My father said as he laid his hand on my shoulder. “Your mother will do the rest of the potatoes”. I nodded, put the potato down and made my way outside through the sitting room. My mother looked at me, the slight panic still evident on her face.

I shot her a tiny smile, which she didn’t return. I left the house with a frown on my face.

--

The first thing I noticed was that the streets weren’t busy as they usually were. It confused me, normally people would be everywhere. Walking to the market, the church or the pub, talking to each other on the corners of the streets or trying to sell small things at the side of the road.

Today, non of those things were happening.

However, when I got to the market, a woman who looked like she was about to have a panic attack came out of nowhere and bumped into me. Before I could mutter my apologies, even though she had ran into me, she started to scream.

“Child, flee, flee! The black death has reached our city! Flee if you want to live!”

My eyes widened. My mother had been right! I quickly got to my feet, ignored the woman who was now laying on the ground, wailing, and ran back home.

I opened the door with a lot of force and stormed into the sitting room, where my father was counting the last of our money. My mother was in the kitchen finishing of the potatoes.

“Mother, father! The black death has reached London!”

My father looked up from the small amount of coins on the wooden table in front of him and my mother stormed out of the kitchen.

“What did you say?” she muttered, her eyes wide with horror.
“Sapphire! Stop scaring your mother with this nonsense!” my father scolded.

“It is not nonsense father! No one is on the streets, they are all getting ready to flee! A woman ran into me on the market, she warned me! She said that if we wanted to survive, we had to flee to!”
For a few moments, there were no movements, no sound, nothing.
Then, my mother started crying.

“We are going to die” she muttered through her tears.

And right she was.