Status: Completed.
The Forbidden Fruit
Prologue
"There is nothing that can be done. They will all definitely die. I am certain of it."
These words were heard by thousands of families in the small town of Winchester found in the outskirts of London.
Not long ago, six years to be exact, a tuberculosis outbreak befell our small town and was announced far and wide. No one came to our aid, instead, we were quarantined from the rest of the world to ensure the disease did not spread. Many lives were claimed by the epidermic. My five brothers, two sisters, father and mother fell victim to it.
Doctors would shun the poor, for there was no reason for them to risk their lives if money was not involved -only but a few were willing to help.
The rich were able to buy medicines that helped prolong the lives of their loved ones and the privileged would send the individuals who had contracted the deadly disease to a sanatorium. However. we were neither rich nor privileged, so all we could do was dig the graves for the people we loved.
Many would say their condolences followed by a comment so cruel: "how fortunate of you to have survived", "life is a blessing", "what a miracle!" and "you lucky children". I would smile politely, but deep inside I would be hurting.
Miracle? What miracle was there in watching my loved ones die before my very eyes? A blessing? What blessing was there in living a life that was not worth living? Fortunate? What good fortune was there for us when we were forever bound by the shackles of poverty?
We were forever damned to live a life of pain and sorrow -condemned to be the ones to always ask, but never receive.
What kind of life was this, filled with so much dismay and desolation? Was it even life at all or was I stuck in a terrifying nightmare that I could not wake myself up from?
These words were heard by thousands of families in the small town of Winchester found in the outskirts of London.
Not long ago, six years to be exact, a tuberculosis outbreak befell our small town and was announced far and wide. No one came to our aid, instead, we were quarantined from the rest of the world to ensure the disease did not spread. Many lives were claimed by the epidermic. My five brothers, two sisters, father and mother fell victim to it.
Doctors would shun the poor, for there was no reason for them to risk their lives if money was not involved -only but a few were willing to help.
The rich were able to buy medicines that helped prolong the lives of their loved ones and the privileged would send the individuals who had contracted the deadly disease to a sanatorium. However. we were neither rich nor privileged, so all we could do was dig the graves for the people we loved.
Many would say their condolences followed by a comment so cruel: "how fortunate of you to have survived", "life is a blessing", "what a miracle!" and "you lucky children". I would smile politely, but deep inside I would be hurting.
Miracle? What miracle was there in watching my loved ones die before my very eyes? A blessing? What blessing was there in living a life that was not worth living? Fortunate? What good fortune was there for us when we were forever bound by the shackles of poverty?
We were forever damned to live a life of pain and sorrow -condemned to be the ones to always ask, but never receive.
What kind of life was this, filled with so much dismay and desolation? Was it even life at all or was I stuck in a terrifying nightmare that I could not wake myself up from?
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Most of you who know me, know that I'm posting all types of different genre types. I'm trying out new things, seeing what I'm good at type thing. So bare in mind, as you read, that this is my first time writing something so old. Some facts may be completely wrong (but it's fiction so fuck off) and the dialogue may be a little exaggerated in terms of dialect, but I will obviously try to work on that. I do hope you enjoy yourselves though, because I am certain I am going to enjoy writing this. Well, you know the drill....recommend, subscribe and comment if you wish.