Short Stories - A Collection of Achievement

Timed Love

14th Century Europe

Journal Entry 157:
I have contracted the disease. The fever, the cough, the dizzy spells if I get out of bed, I have all of them. Mother keeps bringing medicine, being the nurse she is, but I don't want her to get sick. I locked the door. This may be my last entry, so I'll leave whoever is reading with this.

Why do we live, or rather, why do we die?

~*~

The young brunette man closed the leather-bound book and set it on the nightstand. He then lied back against the mattress, shut his eyes, and recited the same words he repeated every night.

"God, send my an angel to cleanse me of my illness. Give me strength to fight off this plague that murders my neighbors and I. Pl-"

Glass breaks nearby.

The young lad sat up so quickly that the world spun circles around him, and when he coughed, blood spattered across his white sheets. He knew he was dying. He knew his prayers were just for his sanity.

When his vision settled, a man in a cloak was seen standing before him.

"Gavin Free?"

The young man nodded, hazel eyes locked on the hooded figure. Was this the angel he had placed in his prayers?

He pulled back the fabric that shrouded his face, revealing a scowl, reddish-brown hair, a mess of freckles, and eyes that resembled the tone of mud. He was beautiful though.

"We need to get you out of here. You're dying, and-"

"I figured as much." Gavin interrupted, motioning to his soiled sheets to his supposed savior. He was too tired to leave bed, let alone go with a stranger.. Even if he was a possible angel.

"We don't have much ti-"

"What is your name?" He interrupted the man again, finding his accent odd. He wasn't from here, or he hasn't been here long. Maybe not an angel.

"Michael. Now get up."

"Last name?" He knew he was stalling, but he was so tired.. He felt like Death was ready to envelop him into a shroud of sleep.

"What? That's not relevent. Now get u-" Michael hissed.

"Last name." He demanded.

"Jones." Michael growled, wrenching the blanket away from Gavin. Not an angel. A man.

"Well, Michael Jones, as you can see, I'm dying. There is no point on getting out of this bed." The brunette rolled so he was facing away from the strange man.

The red-head wasted no time. He scooped up the taller boy into his arms easily, cradling the sickly pale man against his chest. Gavin struggled weakly.

"Set me down this instant! How dare you! Can you not leave a dying man to his own demise?!"

He continued to struggle, but Michael paid no mind. He kicked out a bit more of the window he previously had broken, in which the front door wasn't an option due to the fact that it was in plain sight and locked. He was about to climb through when Gavin spoke, his voice tired.

"Why are we leaving?"

"They're going to burn the house. They believe you're dead." He replied.

Gavin whimpered. "My journal.. I-I can't let them burn it."

Michael furrowed his brow, taking a glance at the nightstand. He was beginning to smell the smoke. He propped the brunette against the wall near the window and ran over to grab the book when the first torch flew through the front window's curtain. The fire crawled across the walls and floor like a deranged insect. Gavin let out a squeal of fear, but his legs wouldn't let him stand.