End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Maternal affection had not rendered Idris selfish; at the beginning of
our calamity she had, with thoughtless enthusiasm, devoted herself to
the care of the sick and helpless. I checked her; and she submitted to
my rule. I told her how the fear of her danger palsied my exertions,
how the knowledge of her safety strung my nerves to endurance. I shewed
her the dangers which her children incurred during her absence; and she
at length agreed not to go beyond the inclosure of the forest. Indeed,
within the walls of the Castle we had a colony of the unhappy, deserted
by their relatives, and in themselves helpless, sufficient to occupy
her time and attention, while ceaseless anxiety for my welfare and the
health of her children, however she strove to curb or conceal it,
absorbed all her thoughts, and undermined the vital principle. After
watching over and providing for their safety, her second care was to
hide from me her anguish and tears. Each night I returned to the
Castle, and found there repose and love awaiting me. Often I waited
beside the bed of death till midnight, and through the obscurity of
rainy, cloudy nights rode many miles, sustained by one circumstance
only, the safety and sheltered repose of those I loved. If some scene
of tremendous agony shook my frame and fevered my brow, I would lay my
head on the lap of Idris, and the tumultuous pulses subsided into a
temperate flow —her smile could raise me from hopelessness, her embrace
bathe my sorrowing heart in calm peace. Summer advanced, and, crowned
with the sun’s potent rays, plague shot her unerring shafts over the
earth. The nations beneath their influence bowed their heads, and died.
The corn that sprung up in plenty, lay in autumn rotting on the ground,
while the melancholy wretch who had gone out to gather bread for his
children, lay stiff and plague-struck in the furrow. The green woods
waved their boughs majestically, while the dying were spread beneath
their shade, answering the solemn melody with inharmonious cries. The
painted birds flitted through the shades; the careless deer reposed
unhurt upon the fern—the oxen and the horses strayed from their
unguarded stables, and grazed among the wheat, for death fell on man
alone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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