God’s Plaguebearers

Mark takes a deep breath as he reaches for the apartment door — the first step in a plan he’s been building for days.

He steps outside. The breeze is cool and calm. Strange for a June evening.

His heart? Steady. Too steady, considering what he’s about to do.

He walks toward the bus stop. It feels like any other walk — like he’s just out on an errand. No need to rush. Every second has already been planned.

People notice him. They look away. Some glare. Others shift aside. No one says a word, but their eyes say everything.

He’s used to this.

It’s been three years since the plague began — the one they said came from his people. The one they claimed was a punishment from God.

They blame his race. They fear them. They hate them.

Mark has learned to keep walking. Head down. Mouth shut. Heart hard.

He moves through the crowd like a shadow. People stare — with anger, with disgust, sometimes even pity. But he doesn’t flinch. Not anymore.

He’s numb to it all.

At the bus stop, the chairs are empty. His legs ache. He wants to sit.

But above the bench, a metal sign reads:

“PLAGUEBEARERS MAY NOT USE THESE SEATS.”

So he stands.

The bus pulls in with a loud roar. People rush to the front doors, pushing and shoving into the main compartment — the one for the cleans.

Mark heads to the second door — his door.

The plaguebearer section is nearly empty. Just three others sit inside. As he steps in, he mutters under his breath,

“At least there’s one perk to being cursed.”

He sits down and taps his phone against the screen. Ticket paid. No questions asked. Now, he just waits.

A video begins playing on the small monitor above him. Soft music. A calm voice.

“If you carry the curse, don’t lose hope. God still forgives. Repent daily. Clean your heart. Obey the laws. Forgiveness is possible… even for you.”

The screen shows a happy family — pale skin, bright clothes, all smiles. Not like him.

Then it shows people like him — kneeling, heads bowed, praying for mercy.

Mark doesn’t even blink.

These propaganda films only make him hate the cleans more.

Each word is a matchstick to his dry, buried rage.

But maybe... maybe he is cursed.

Because no matter how much he wants to hate them — he can’t.

His wife is one of them.

He leans back, closes his eyes, and lets his body sink into the seat.

And he lets himself remember. The time before all this. Before the plague.

Before the rules.

Before the signs.

Back to the day they got married — just a few months before the world turned on them.

Mark gets off at his stop. Walks into the park. Finds a bench. Sits.

And waits.

He sits quietly, nerves crawling up his spine, imagining every way this could go wrong.

Maybe it was a good idea to meet here — this park he’s been coming to since he was a kid.

To calm himself, he pulls out his phone and starts a game of chess. But it’s no use. The anxiety doesn’t budge.

Then — a sound. A painful, sharp cry.

A cat — or maybe a kitten.

He looks up toward a tree in front of him. There are two kittens.

One lies motionless on a flattened piece of cardboard. The other stands beside it, crying so loudly it sounds like its lungs might tear.

A man stands nearby, preparing to remove the dead one. Gloved hands. Expression blank.

Mark watches, transfixed.

Maybe they were friends, the kittens.

But who cries this hard for a friend — at least not in the current situation of the country.

Lovers, maybe? But they’re just babies. Still kittens.

No... must be siblings.

Still, the crying hits him — even him — after everything he’s endured as a plaguebearer.

He sees it now.

He and his wife.

He’s the kitten — crying out.

She’s the one on the cardboard.

The man stands there, reluctant to dirty his hands on the dead.

The kitten begs with its eyes. Its small, trembling legs.

All it wants is for someone to treat that body — that once-warm body — with a shred of dignity.

That corpse on the cardboard was once its entire world. It’s home. It’s only family.

Mark imagines what the kitten must feel — the powerlessness. The heartbreak.

Then the man lifts the body with gloved hands, face twisted in disgust, and dumps it into a box.

The kitten follows, legs weak, barely managing to walk. But it follows anyway. Because what else can it do?

Maybe it once told her, in its own way,

“I would fight the world for you. I’d burn it down for you.”

But now it just cries.

A cry so raw, so sharp, it slices straight through the air.

Mark looks away.

There he is. The moment Mark’s been waiting for.

A man walks toward him, slowing in the fading light.

“Is that you?” the man asks quietly.

Mark stands, eyes sharp and steady.

“Do you have it?” Mark says.

The man nods, voice shaky.

“Yes. But stay back. I can’t open it here.”

Mark’s jaw tightens.

“No one said cursed ones get to win. I’m holding the cards. You still talk like that? Show me.”

The man looks scared.

“I need my daughter back first.”

Mark’s eyes go cold.

“She’ll be safe after you finish. Now, show me.”

The man pulls out a small metal box, sealed tight.

Mark points.

“Open it.”

The man shakes his head.

“I can’t. If I open it here, they’ll know. The vaccine must be used right away. I risked everything by stealing this — my job, my license.”

Mark’s voice drops low but sharp.

“Your license won’t matter if you lose your daughter. Let’s go.”

Mark’s apartment door creaks open.

The air inside is heavy — thick with ghosts of better days.

The furniture is modest but neat — a quiet reminder of a life worth fighting for.

Eva lies on the couch, pale and fragile — breath shallow.

The plague eats her from inside out — a sickness they say she shouldn’t have, because she’s married to him.

They refused her treatment.

They say God sent the plague to punish them.

Mark’s heart clenches tighter than ever.

Behind him, the doctor steps in — face cold but nerves barely hidden beneath the mask.

Mark wastes no time.

“You refused her care. Just because I’m cursed. Because you say she’s tainted by association. You think God gave her this plague to punish us.”

The doctor’s eyes flicker, then look away.

“I’m following orders.”

Mark’s jaw tightens.

He says nothing more — because he knows the truth.

He’s holding the doctor’s daughter hostage — his bargaining chip to steal the vaccine. To save Eva.

The doctor pulls a syringe from his coat.

Mark’s breath catches.

The doctor kneels beside Eva and injects her.

Mark watches, tense.

At first, hope blooms.

Eva’s eyes flutter open — a fragile spark inside Mark’s chest.

Tears well up.

For a moment, Mark believes.

Maybe this nightmare will end.

But then Eva’s breath catches.

Her eyes widen — not relief, but pain.

She gasps.

Her body convulses.

Mark’s hope shatters like glass.

The doctor’s lips curl in a cruel smirk.

“You think she’s getting better? That wasn’t medicine. It’s poison, Mark.”

A storm explodes inside Mark — rage, horror, disbelief crashing together.

“Orders?” Mark spits, voice shaking but fierce. “You call this order? This twisted law? I’ve seen people like me thrown out, left to die in the streets. And now she’s here, fading, because you chose to do nothing.”

The doctor’s voice drops cold and venomous.

“Maybe… this is God’s punishment. Maybe this is forgiveness for your kind.”

The words don’t just sting — they rip something raw inside him.

Mark turns toward the locked door at the back.

His hand slides behind his back, gripping cold steel.

The doctor’s eyes narrow, dark as night.

Mark breathes the password — one he’s never spoken aloud.

The lock clicks open.

Mark storms inside, gun ready.

There — huddled in shadows — the doctor’s daughter, trembling, tears streaming.

The silence is thunder.

Mark says nothing.

His breath slows.

His eyes harden like stone.

The fight inside him — between mercy and rage — boils over.

The doctor’s voice cracks, desperate:

“Please… don’t do this.”

Mark’s finger tightens on the trigger.

A gunshot shatters the silence.

Mark collapses into a chair, broken and empty.

The doctor stands motionless.

Two lives shattered. Two souls lost.

Sirens scream, tearing through the night as police flood in, cuffs clicking, commands shouted.

They carry Eva’s body away.

Mark sits still, hollow.

His mind drifts back to the kitten. All he can think of is just he crying kitten. The helplessness.

All that’s left are the tears he can’t hold back anymore.