Leftovers

18 3 7
                                    




I have always seen that thing standing there. A hooded figure that was always watching from a distance. As the hours, and days went by I realized he was coming closer. Bit by bit he was coming closer. I held my knife behind my back until the day he finally approached me. The hooded figure opened its mouth and asked.

"is someone else's life more valuable than your own?"

I didn't know why he asked me that. But seeing he did not intend on murdering or robbing me, I put away my knife. The first thing I was taught to survive this dying town is to kill or be killed. Luckily for I was young, many people would leave me alone.

The figure still stood there but I didn't respond to him. But as I closed my eyes for a second the figure disappeared. I thought he left but I saw him again. He was back where he was when I first saw him. Far, but still watching.


I don't know how long it had been since I had eaten. Maybe a few days. All the wealthy avoid this part of town ever since they had introduced the northern passage. rarely anyone walks through here anymore except the poor.

I had to survive no matter the cost. Even if it cost my life. I would sneak into the inner city and scavenge the trash left outside noble homes. Even if they screamed at me and called me disgusting, and trash. It didn't matter. I wanted to live, I did not want to fall into the endless void of death.

Even if I survived I began to question if it was even worth living. Though I had been living, people around me succumbed to their hunger. I could not provide enough food for everyone. No matter how many times I offered something to eat for the elderly, they always declined as they left a kind smile before closing their eyes.

Before I realized it, the hooded figure appeared before me yet again. He spoke once more asking

"is someone else's life more valuable than your own?"

Why did he ask me this again? I did not understand why he kept approaching me. I did not know if I was hallucinating. I couldn't tell what was real anymore. So I asked,

"Are you real?"

The figure replied repeating himself "is someone else's life more valuable than your own?"

He wasn't responding to my questions. He only kept repeating the same question he had for me since we first met.

I didn't know how to answer the figure. So I sat down with tears in my eyes, waiting for him to leave. But as I wiped the tears from from my face I noticed he was standing next to me. He wasn't facing me. He only kept looking ahead.

Seconds passed, and soon after minutes, then hours, which became days, and the days became weeks, and those weeks had become months. I had turned 15 but, I had no one to celebrate with except this static wordless figure who seemed to only speak one sentence. All those I knew have either ran away in hopes of finding a better city or they have passed away. There is nothing much left in this city except the starving.

Though I have grown, the figure next to me hadn't seemed to change at all. He was still blankly staring ahead at nothing. I could still not understand why he only looked forward despite this near lifeless city, the only area with real life is the inner part of the city, the home of nobles.

I began to appreciate his company rarely speaking a word. The pain of living began to numb. Life began to feel worthwhile, until the plague struck.

It was a disease doctors had never seen before. It spread rapidly killing it's victims after enduring a week of agonizing pain.

The city began to fall apart not just from the outside, the inside too. There had been many doctors coming to our city attempting to cure the disease but leaving soon after. The medicine they provided did nothing. There was no cure.

The inner city began to reflect the outer city. The fear of order falling apart slowly caught up with the nobles. No amount of money could save them from death. Just as the outer city couldn't.

Survival was harder than ever, even nobility couldn't escape the hands of death. Left and right people were coughing, bleeding from their mouths, crying. What god would let this happen. None of it felt real, I could only pray it was all a nightmare. 

The city inside and out began to fall into chaos, People robbing and killing for clean water, food and medicine. Everyone wanted to live, no matter the cost. 

The question the hooded figure asked of me began to play around in my head, over and over again. It pushed me to think more than I thought I ever could. I began to look at myself down to the very center. 

"is someone else's life more valuable than your own?"

Every moment I let this play through my mind and soul, the more I thought. Survival was important, yes. But throughout all this death, why did so many want to live. Why did they have to take another's life to extend their own just a little longer. All men must die, yet we kill for an extra second. 

My young childish self would have never understood the deeper meaning behind the words the figure bestowed upon me. Thinking this much is both a curse yet a blessing. Breaking down the fundamentals of a human. 

I turned to the figure and the figure turned to me. He asked me the same question yet again.

"is someone else's life more valuable than your own?"

I looked deeply under that blank and empty cloak and told him.

"No life is worth more than another, Yet would kill when their life is in question"

Once I answered my stomach began to growl. The hooded figure spoke again.

"You're hungry, you should get something to eat"

I turned to him and he sat down next to me. He reached behind his back to pull out a knife and remove his cloak. 

The eyes that looked back at me were just like mine, his face too. He looked just like me except, his body covered in scars, his face in blood, and far older. He held his hand out to me, as I reached for it I felt my knife. I pulled my knife to my chest and when I looked back up. He was gone, I was gone. All that was left was myself, It has always been myself.

leftoversWhere stories live. Discover now