The death bell tolls in the town, long and low as it rumbles around the old market square. It’s the third time that it’s tolled today.
It tolls so often here. I sometimes joke that you can tell the time by it. Dawn, noon, and sundown, without fail. Not many people laugh at my joke, and I suppose I can’t say I blame them. There aren’t many people left to laugh at anything, not since the plague arrived in the town, and it’s not really a laughing matter.
No one really knows where the plague came from, or even how it got here, but the cry went up a week ago when the butcher’s wife noticed his symptoms. He was dead within twelve hours. After that they started dropping like flies. Doors with red crosses outnumber those without. There won’t be an untouched house left at this rate.
But I won’t get sick, I know I won’t. I don’t take a lot of satisfaction from that, but you do what you can with the hand that you’re dealt.
The death bell tolls again. The bell rope is rough in my cold hands, and I wish I’d worn gloves. Though there aren’t many left to hear the death bell. As it happens, I should probably stop tolling and do some work. These dead won’t collect themselves.
Marc Nash says
I think one of the most discomfitting things I’ve seen is the sign of the red cross painted on some old buildings in the French countryside. It really makes you stop up and think.
Larry Kollar says
I wonder how the bell-ringer knows he won’t get the plague. Nice piece here, short and punchy.
Li @ Flash Fiction says
Have to admit, I’ve always been fascinated by stories of the plague. A true horror story.
Feidor S. LaView says
I very much like thw way you set the mood of your flash fictions. Intriguing and then it gets punchy indeed. Very nice!
Sonia Lal says
I thought this person was going to commit suicide to keep from getting until the last line.
Katherine Hajer says
Yeah, how did the bell-ringer know he wouldn’t get the plague? Ah, it doesn’t really matter. I suppose if he collects the dead, he has a right to think he would have caught it by now if he was going to. Nice atmospherics in this one.
Jon Jefferson says
I am all of a sudden reminded of Monty Python. “Bring out your dead. But I’m not Dead. Yes you are.”