Red Crosses

Apparently those red crosses meant it was over; scratched into the front doors, shamed with that tainted signal of death. Quarantine. Inches of dull ash had gathered under my feet like snow in December. The ash often fell to the ground like snow. It looked just like it. But when you stood on it, it didn’t make that deep crunchy sound, it wasn’t cold and it didn’t melt; but it looked just like it. That smell of November, of bomb fires and fireworks, was now permanent. I used to like it. But now, mixed with that smell of something unusual just after another ‘X’ was painted, it didn’t smell like November anymore. An opaque blanket of something grey always hung in the air; an apparent mixture of smoke and fog. I knew that wasn’t what it was. If you put your hand up, an arms reach away from your face, you wouldn’t be able to see it.
Smoke, the sign of the devil, rose rapidly adrift into the bright midnight sky, possessing a thick smell that clung to every remaining resemblance of life. Sometimes you could smell the rain. Like sodden earth and impure liquid; even that comforting aroma was often overshadowed by the aggression of death. The waft of burning, rotting carcases remained statically adamant but that tang of death luckily rose into the hidden sky. I could smell it on myself. Absorbed into every fibre of my hair; it was inescapable. We are able to taste a smell. This happened to me sometimes, when the ash was just beginning to settle. It tasted sour. Nauseating. Quarantine possessed my home, memories and loved ones.
Looking towards the solemn ground, I realised the isolation of my footsteps. The ash indented delicately as each particle escaped the compression of my foot; and therefore persevering a twin of my foot. My footsteps where recklessly scattered repeatedly over the suffocating blanket of ash; and they were the only ones to do so. I had not seen another footstep for as long as I could remember… I was the only one. Making my journey: alone. Often birds treaded deep into the grey field and left their miniscule marks upon it. This was the only clue that other forms of life still existed.
Silvery ash was all that I could see for miles. It settled not only upon me but also lined the original grouting between the bricks of homes and clogged the drains of sewers. It was everywhere. Dark ebony roofs, composed of neglected slate, possessed that warming sight of a light dusting of blank powder between its joining to another.
I saw a silhouette. Someone stood squarely in front of me, shrouded in smog, their aura illuminating the ash choked expanse. Short lived excitement resulted in painful disappointment at the realisation that I was still alone- it was just more ash. It was not light and it was not blank.
Sometimes I needed to check. I needed to make sure it wasn’t what I wanted it to be. I dipped my index finger beneath the ash and removed it whilst leaving behind an empty, finger-sized hole. It was still ash. The velvety remains sunk through my skin, dissolved into my pores and were consumed into my being. The scolded remnants of anything good were now just fine, chalky, dry dust.
There was no colour. Apart from the crimson crosses and auburn glow that lit the church internally; there was nothing. Standing alone equidistant to the houses and the church, encompassed by ash, I noticed the archaic stained glass of the church had become livid black. Even the undeniable brilliance of craftsmanship no longer remained.
I still wasn’t used to the quiet. Expressive silence rung in my ear, acquiring an unfamiliar lull of death that had become somewhat familiar. The loud hush of memories agitated my hypnotic state, threatening to expose me to reality.
Fire started without ignition. And it tended to spread without cause. Rioting throughout my baron town, further destroying the already destroyed, the fire tenderly licked the smog in the air.
The church had hosted numerous fond experiences. My parents had wed there; I was christened within its decaying flint stone walls. The epicentre of the town, but now it sheltered the dead. It had been reluctantly assigned the job of storing the bodies of my dying or dead neighbours. My memories had been torn away by witnessing the gruesome contents of the establishment leaving behind the shell of what used to exist within my heart that could never be replaced. I approached the church. Its magnificence was impressive. Disregarded designs of sheer skill had been exhibited upon the church’s already ornamented foundations as its centre spire reared a conceited 252 feet high, towering into the smog. The sheer size of the structure in comparison with my quaint village made me shiver and always had done, even though the sight of it was not that of a rarity. Placing my hand against the lowest of the stained glass windows, after I had entered the over populated church yard, I left behind my hand print. Each insignificant wrinkle and crease was visible in the ashes lifelike recollection of my left hand. The print I created allowed the release of a painfully bright light from inside the church, illuminating the ash amongst the air and that upon my skin. Looking through the only accessible point of the glass window, though tinged an appealing teal hue, the bodies were piled high. Heaved upon one another carelessly, their dignity non existent, the partially decomposed corpses where nothing more than cases of disease. Their flesh was now bait to avid insects who had taken up asylum beneath the thin decomposing sheath of skin which scarcely covered their inanimate, deceased frames. Eyes; the windows to the soul’ where abandoned. Thieved from their essence, they were now just two insignificantly glazed over objects which once withheld their owners most sacred of secrets from the rest of the cruel world.

It had begun to rain. I remember how rain used to be. Clear and tasteless but it tended to carry a quality that depressed every human within civilisation. The coming of rain meant there would be no sun that day. The sun never released rays but instead remained a shadow suspended within smog only a hint of what used to be. Poised within the atmosphere was now a dilated black pendant which emitted nothing and never moved; but looking at it triggered an unaccustomed expression to appear upon my face. A smile. Rain was now much appreciated, although it turned the ash into sludge it was the closest thing to the past. Even though it’s drops where no longer clear and where now just chalky leaks that tasted bitter and stained your clothes, it was still a much welcomed sight. A single tear began a journey down my grimy face, clearing a nude path behind it. Its cause was unknown to me but it epitomised my emotions. Looking around it had occurred to me that I no longer had anything holding me to earth. For beforehand, it wasn’t gravity holding me to earth but love.

I turned to follow the churches crumbling walls forwards. Parched grass lay beneath my bare feet only to be compressed deep into the sterile ground. Unkempt foliage climbed the churches walls, spiteful thistles thrashed at my gentle toes, being taunted by its sharp bulbs and further damaging my shoe-less feet. Cobble stones that once paved the way to the churches entrance were now just visible through the grey grass under me although unfortunately cracked in half; providing a habitat for immortal vegetation. Previously blooming roses were now just animate deceased carcases lining up straight against the stiff iron gates which enclosed the church yard. My eye was drawn to several head stones, propped up on a 70 degree angle, corrosion meant its inscription was unreadable and the stone acted as a support for moss to reproduce upon. Then I saw it. Standing directly in front of me, handsomely adopting an arrogant stance and luring me ever closer, the police banner read ‘under quarantine’. The police had been ordered to lock the church to the highest possible level of security. The bodies that once lined the streets had been moved into the church around 3 months ago in order to contain the disease and several live sufferers were locked in; awaiting their certain imminent death. The door still enticed me towards it, although its dangers where obvious to me, I had to go in. I had realised the source of the smell that I had become so familiar with and I could smell it stronger than ever. That stench of impending death hung in the air as I walked increasing nearer to the crimson oak entrance in front of me. I desperately grasped at the tired brass handle. I pushed with the remainder of my strength causing the door to exclaim a quiet yelp from its rusty hinges as it flung against the churches inside wall. The stench was unleashed like a stampede being unleashed and allowed to trample my delicate body. I fell to the hard, dead ground and vomited on the path. Wiping my chapped mouth, I looked into the entrance. The tepid shine from candles stung my eyes, the aisle and charred pews were barely visible through the mangled bodies. I heaved myself to my feet. Ambling unsteadily into the church, its beauty remained stunning; pools of blood had stained the churches antique floor, the source of each just another case of quarantine. Instead of walking straight, unable to make any decision independently, I followed where my body took me and diverged passed the main hall. Now facing a circular stairway, shielded by a frayed, velvet navy curtain which hung from a pointed archway, I noticed the way each individual stone of the churches walls were unique. Each had its own individual shape and colour; no two where the same. Placing my hand against the wall on my left, I ran it along the wall and closed my eyes as I proceeded forwards. Nuggets of singed stone came away under the pressure of my hand; they splintered my skin and caused it to become black. I relaxed my heavy head towards the ceiling. Opening my glazed eyes, wooden beams, unstable to the softest touch, had managed to remain intact through unimaginable trauma without any noticeable damage. Each still possessed that attractive map of crevasses and canyons that caused a hypnotic state to take over my body and lead me forwards. Ripping it partially, I pulled back the curtain and begun an ascent to the unknown. Climbing the countless, curling stairs upwards towards the heavens, each footstep as important as the next, I clasped tenderly at the rope rail that had been recklessly screwed into the stairwell. Creating a striking shadow against the flint wall, the frayed rope hung with the wall into a pattern I had never witness before hand. I followed this trail to the summit. Without recollection, I had scrambled my way to the roof of the church. Ash. I had missed it. It had never seemed so appealing. After being my acquaintance for several months, we were reunited. My comforting blanket of grey was back under my feet; soon to be my final resting place. Looking towards the twilight sky; I closed my eyes and encompassed myself in the bliss. I had decided. Tensing and relaxing my toes within the ash, leaving smeared scars upon its surface; I approached the edge and jumped.