COURIER IN THE BIRD MASK

TRIGGER WARNINGS child death, suicide, abuse, plague, sickness, breakdowns, first person, spouse death, starvation

Day Twelve

It’s over now. 

The pride and joy of the town fell, the Polyhedron, a testament to humanity overcoming Earth caused this plague. 

The doctors refuse to give more detail, but I took a vaccine and those infected drank a panacea. It’s over now. We’re free.

Yet, all they did was put the key closer to me as I sit in my birdcage.

The scrawling, the sobbing, the crying, the wails of those who didn’t live through it- they won’t let me sleep. I still hear the thumping of the Earth underneath my feet, telling me that Mother Boddho will continue to live despite all the pain she’s been through.

It’s over now- I am free, but the pretty little lies that the ruling families tell us, that we can recover, is such a lie. I still hear mothers begging me to see their child, on their knees, wanting to wake up from this twelve day nightmare that we call the Sand Pest. I still remember the way mothers and fathers would cry over their children as I inscribed a 5 year old’s final words. Do you know what that’s like? To watch such innocent souls die, fall, perish- and I’d have to stay brave, stay strong to help those five year olds die easier, knowing their final words to their families would be delivered. I watched children die, one of whom died in my very arms, and yet the world expects me to move on-

This. This was a tragedy, this was a testament to how weak the town was, and all it took was a plague to show all the cracks covered in putty. Words to describe what happened don’t exist- to try and put into the English language the pain that this town went through would be insulting. The ghosts that haunt this town will linger forever, I know it. 

It’s over now- and I get to think about it. Think about the fact I told their stories- reworded their incoherent thoughts into something sensible, but oh god, did I portray their messages right? What if the deaths that I failed to communicate causes their family grief, lead to suicide?! Did their voice shine through what was my voice, or was it just mine speaking, telling their families false stories and empty lies? 

I’m so tired. I’m tired of being that glue that kept families from breaking apart, and I want to sleep. I don’t want to think about what I’ve done, what the plague did to people- what it did to me. I stopped crying by day six. Am I a monster, desensitised to death in the cruellest, rawest form.

Am I just the angel of ellipses of quiet, of the voices of the dead? 

The world is enough now- it has to be. This is all I have, the mess of atoms put together to create this isolated town that I used to call home, but I’m not sure it ever was truly my home. I wish it were one of those stories that end in learning to love what you hate- but I don’t think I can truly love the Town-On-Gorkhon like I did before. I’ve learned to love things outside the town. I’m going to the Capital City, go to college, live my life because I think I deserve it… but on the other hand, why did I get to live? I’ll speak to a therapist too, then. 

I spoke to the healers today, the three doctors. They saw me in the hospital more often than not, they asked my name and formally introduced themselves… well. Burakh introduced the three. Clara looked startled, afraid, wringing their hands in anxiousness. Physically, I could tell, she was unwell. Like a part of her was taken away, and if the rumours were right, it was most likely her magic that was taken away. Dankovsky, on the other hand, seemed to be mentally unwell. He was repeating himself, eyes darting around the room, standing close to Burakh the whole time, arm to arm. He looked scared, paranoid- and I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he went through those plague infested days. Burakh, on the surface, seemed fine, but despite his cold, stoic, yet warm and welcoming demeanour, he seemed to be just barely holding himself together. I don’t think a single person will go through this unscathed, I’m not sure recovery is even possible anymore. Perhaps the town should assimilate with the Capital City, as we lost the Polyhedron, our only identity. The only thing we were good for. Give the land back to the Kin and let the few thousand of us that remain move away. 

I don’t know how to word my own personal feelings on this. Do I laugh, do I smile that it’s over, do I cry over the dead? Do I do all of the above? Damn, I feel so many things. I feel like I don’t deserve to feel relief, I didn’t do anything important or useful in the long run, and yet was treated as essential as the doctors. What did I do? Write some letters? Talk to some half dead people? Feel sorry for myself because this is my job, tune into the dying, hone their words into a focused piece of more fiction than reality? 

They took me out of my coal mine.

But I’m still in the birdcage.