End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Although by our situation and dispositions we were almost equally cut
off from the usual forms of social intercourse, we formed a strong
contrast to each other. I always required the stimulants of
companionship and applause. Perdita was all-sufficient to herself.
Notwithstanding my lawless habits, my disposition was sociable, hers
recluse. My life was spent among tangible realities, hers was a dream.
I might be said even to love my enemies, since by exciting me they in a
sort bestowed happiness upon me; Perdita almost disliked her friends,
for they interfered with her visionary moods. All my feelings, even of
exultation and triumph, were changed to bitterness, if unparticipated;
Perdita, even in joy, fled to loneliness, and could go on from day to
day, neither expressing her emotions, nor seeking a fellow-feeling in
another mind. Nay, she could love and dwell with tenderness on the look
and voice of her friend, while her demeanour expressed the coldest
reserve. A sensation with her became a sentiment, and she never spoke
until she had mingled her perceptions of outward objects with others
which were the native growth of her own mind. She was like a fruitful
soil that imbibed the airs and dews of heaven, and gave them forth
again to light in loveliest forms of fruits and flowers; but then she
was often dark and rugged as that soil, raked up, and new sown with
unseen seed.
She dwelt in a cottage whose trim grass-plat sloped down to the waters
of the lake of Ulswater; a beech wood stretched up the hill behind, and
a purling brook gently falling from the acclivity ran through
poplar-shaded banks into the lake. I lived with a farmer whose house
was built higher up among the hills: a dark crag rose behind it, and,
exposed to the north, the snow lay in its crevices the summer through.
Before dawn I led my flock to the sheep-walks, and guarded them through
the day. It was a life of toil; for rain and cold were more frequent
than sunshine; but it was my pride to contemn the elements. My trusty
dog watched the sheep as I slipped away to the rendezvous of my
comrades, and thence to the accomplishment of our schemes. At noon we
met again, and we threw away in contempt our peasant fare, as we built
our fire-place and kindled the cheering blaze destined to cook the game
stolen from the neighbouring preserves. Then came the tale of
hair-breadth escapes, combats with dogs, ambush and flight, as
gipsey-like we encompassed our pot. The search after a stray lamb, or
the devices by which we elude or endeavoured to elude punishment,
filled up the hours of afternoon; in the evening my flock went to its
fold, and I to my sister.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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