London, December 7th, 1952

I cough painfully, my lungs involuntarily trying to get the sticky resin that I inhale with every breath out. I wheeze for another minute or two. Elizabeth, my older sister, pats my back concernedly.

“Are you alright, Abigail? You sound worse today.”

The painful bout of coughing over, I clear my throat and smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just…a tickle in my throat.”

Elizabeth remains looking worried, but she stands up straight and brushes off my dress. “Alright. Be careful, Abigail. I worry about you. This cough of yours has been getting worse, and you’ve just barely recovered from your pneumonia. Do you need a drink of water?”

I shake my head. “Really, Elizabeth, I’m fine.” I hesitate, and then add, “I am a little cold, though. Could you put a fire on?”

My sister smiles, glad to be able to help, and nods. “Of course. One moment.”

Within minutes, a blazing, if slightly stinking, fire burns cheerily on our hearth. I sit on a little stool before it, rubbing my hands together and glad to have some relief from the relentless cold that seems to dominate all of London this December. This year, 1952, is easily the coldest on record for the past couple of decades. I shiver once more and scoot closer to the soothing warmth emanating from the flames.

Elizabeth sits next to me on our bench, as graceful as any princess. “I was lucky to find coal this cheap. We’re almost out of money again. Soon I’ll have to get a full-time job, or we’ll have to go back to Uncle’s to live.”

Although she is my sister, Elizabeth is also my legal guardian. Our parents died when I was four and she was fifteen, and we’d been put in the care of our father’s brother, Uncle Arthur, who we just referred to as “Uncle.” Uncle was extremely alcoholic and sometimes abusive, to the point of making my and Elizabeth’s lives miserable and strenuous.

When she turned eighteen and I was seven, last year, Elizabeth had moved out of Uncle’s home and fought long and hard with the court for custody of me. Obviously, I’d wanted to live with her, but since I was underage, the court had disregarded my personal opinion and had argued over whether Elizabeth should be trusted with such responsibility at such a young age. Finally, they decided to give her a chance, and I’d happily moved in with her.

That was about four months ago, but our lives hadn’t been any calmer or more tranquil since Uncle left our daily lives. I’d come down with a serious case of pneumonia, and Elizabeth had quit her amazing full-time job as a lawyer’s accountant and had taken a part-time job at a convenience store instead so that she’d have time to doctor me. I’d recovered, but my cough remained.

It’s gotten worse just recently, but then again, there seems to have been a horrible, permeating layer of smog covering London for the past three days or so. It may be my imagination, however.

I look up at Elizabeth, who's cleaning up the dinner dishes in the kitchen. “I thought that you said that this kind of coal is bad to buy. You said that it makes the air all cloudy and toxic. You’ve been buying it for the past four days, haven’t you?”

“Yes, dear, but…well, times are harder now than they were when I told you that. As soon as we can afford it, we’ll buy the good, healthy kind of coal.”

“Alright.”

Elizabeth and I are silent for a moment as we think about our lives. I’m just wondering if I’ll ever have a kitten of my own, like my friend Mary has, when Elizabeth breaks the quiet.

“Abigail, dear, have you thought any more of what I told you about Christianity?”

I look at her, puzzled. “Yes, and I always get confused when I do. When I was little, you told me not to listen to anyone who tells me that Jesus is real. You said not to trust in something I can’t prove. But then, yesterday, you tell me that you’ve become a believer yourself and that I should try to talk to Jesus.” I knit my eyebrows in bewilderment. “Which side of you should I listen to?”

Elizabeth’s eyes begin to shine as she explains. “I know that Jesus is real now, Abigail. I don’t have proof, but I know for sure. I can’t explain it. It’s just this sensation I felt when Philippa told me about Him. I don’t want to force you to believe, but oh, you should just feel how wonderful — no, how absolutely magnificent it is to know!!”

I tilt my head. “I’m still confused.”

Elizabeth smiles lovingly, reaches out to brush my hair with her soft, elegant hands, and stands up. “It’s your bedtime. You need to go to sleep.” At the indignant look on my face, she laughs, “Come on! If you really want to know, you’ll have to ask Jesus yourself.”

I sigh and stand up. “Alright.” I yawn widely, but it turns into another bout of painful coughing. Elizabeth’s eyes narrow in concern again, and once I’m finished, she clears her throat. “Dear, tomorrow I’m going to take you to the doctor. I don’t think that cough is going to get any better.”

I shake my head violently. “Not the doctor, no, please…”

I fade off at the worried look on her face. Reluctantly, I look down. “Alright, fine.”

Elizabeth smiles. “Wonderful. Goodnight, dear. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I crawl onto my worn-down mattress and burrow under the thin, threadbare blankets on top, trying to escape the cold that seemed to be everywhere.

Jesus…the name seems intriguing, as if it is the name of something superhuman and ultrapowerful. Maybe, with time, I’ll become a Christian like Elizabeth. It doesn’t seem that bad; in fact, Elizabeth seems to love being one. Maybe…maybe…

I close my eyes, succumbing to the horrible, horrible cold everywhere. I cough again, and then start slipping into a deep, bottomless sleep, the deepest sleep I’ve had in ages. I smile, and let myself fall asleep.

“Abigail?” Elizabeth called from the kitchen in the morning, barely suppressing a giant, unladylike yawn. She cracked two eggs into a skillet and set it on the stove, stirring slowly with a wooden spoon. “Abigail, dear, are you up? We need to be going to the doctor’s soon. I have my work to attend, you know.”

After a moment with no reply, Elizabeth set down her spoon. “Dear, this is no day to be lazy. Wake up, please!”

Still no answer. Her temper shortening, Elizabeth stomped gracefully out of the kitchen and toward Abigail’s room. “Abigail!”

As the morning rays dimly lit up Abigail’s room, Elizabeth peered through the darkness and tried to discern the dark lump where Abigail lay huddled under the covers. “Dear, you need to get up now. We’re going to be late for the doctor’s…”

Elizabeth strode forward and put her hand on Abigail’s shoulder, but it felt strangely cold and clammy.

“Abigail…?”

When her little sister didn’t respond, Elizabeth pulled back the sheets and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Abigail! Wake up!!” she yelled.

Still no response. Panic threatening to overtake her, Elizabeth began shaking Abigail. “Please!!” she screamed.

But Abigail didn’t wake up. She never will.

This historical fiction is about a true story that took place in London, England, in the December of 1952. Hundreds of thousands of people bought cheap coal that released a sulfurous gas when it burned. The result was a horrible, choking layer of smog that was so thick that, in the span of five days, it killed 40,000 people of London. Many were children, seniors, or weakened from sickness.

Just think: out of those 40,000 people, how many do you think were Christian? Many may have been on the verge of converting and giving their lives to Jesus, but, because of this catastrophe, they never got the chance. Because of man-produced air pollution, many people may have to suffer an eternity burning in flames.

Pollution is a serious problem. We only have one planet, and we, as humans, have been given responsibility by God to take care of it. We need to be more careful with what we do to this world, or another catastrophe like this may take place.

Be careful, and God bless.

Fairy

Does anyone like this? I wrote it for a school project last year, and I've been mentally debating whether or not to post it. It's pretty sad, typical of me, and it's a little naive, but I haven't posted in a while, so I decided to try it out and hope for some feedback. Comment if you like it, please!! :)

The flurry of light, sparkling happily in the sunlight, soared over the treetops, the momentous heads of strong, prehistoric giants that used their brawn for the benefit of all the forest. As the fairy’s energy began to ebb — ever so slightly — she nestled herself into a dent in the bough of a branch. Her eyes blinked sleepily as she gaily watched the beautiful magnitude of soaring birds of every color, leaping tree frogs, and even a dreary-looking sloth, grumbling softly at the racket the birds were making. Contentedly, the fairy allowed her eyes to drift shut…

The fairy leapt to her feet, startled out of her sleep. What had roused her? She listened quietly, straining her ears for any noise of alarm that might have alerted her. Suddenly, as she listened nervously, the puzzle fit together: the forest was absolutely noiseless! As the fairy fled from the tree in alarm, she failed to notice that she was no longer glowing - a horrible omen that could only foretell oncoming evil. The fairy flew, gasping for breath, to an abandoned-looking squirrel nest. As she banked and landed, a crashing wave of awe and horror threatened to crush her soul; this was the nursery of the newborn baby squirrels she had visited only days before! She dropped to her knees and frantically rummaged through the debris scattered everywhere. Upon finding not even a  suggestion of life, she hugged her knees to her chest. Spasms of choking sobs shook her body, and mournful tears forced their way onto her cheek. Rebelliously scrubbing them away, she turned her head and cried into her shoulder. Through her sobs, she could almost hear the echoes of the newborn squirrels’ terrified squeals as the monstrous poachers carried them away… But then, louder than the last time, a tiny, almost inaudible screech drifted to the fairy’s ears, and she immediately leapt to her feet, practically digging like a mole as she searched for the left-behind baby. At last, a glimpse of a furry, motionless tail led her in the right direction, but as she freed the tiny squirrel from underneath the debris, she realized that its spine had been shattered, and that the child would never move from her mid-back down. Tears welling up in her eyes, she clutched the baby close to her heart and smiled.

The Wave

I stared with horror at the growing tsunami before me. Its immense height and intimidating power captivated me as I stood in front of a hundred-foot-tall watery monster. The frothy-white crests at its top, like millions of squirming fingers, seemed to beckon me.

I barely acknowledged the hundreds of people around me, panicking, screaming, and running in all directions. I slowly took a step backwards, turning around and joining the havoc.

The wave was still hundreds of yards away. I knew a nearby building where I could escape the inevitable surging currents, escape the coming destruction and devastation…it was close enough, but so far that if I were to have any chance of reaching it in time I would have to stop for nothing.

Behind me and to my left, a piercing scream met my ears, so loud that it caused me to stumble. I turned around to find a little girl, no older than four, laying on her back and writhing in pain. When I jogged closer to investigate, I realized that no foot should ever have to face the way that hers had been forced.

Tears of fear and agony trickled down her face as she gazed into mine. “Help me,” she whispered. “Please.”

The noise around me died away, until nothing was left but this little child’s plea. I gritted my teeth, knowing the sacrifice it would cost me, and carefully picked up the little girl.

I ran as I had never run before, gliding over the sandy beach swiftly, taking the equal of three bounds at a time.

Quickly, I reached the edge of the beach and galloped onto the road, dodging between cars and ducking under low bridges. The girl, clinging to me desperately, cried out with fear as I was almost run over by a colossal Ford.

Water began swirling around my ankles, a herald that the tsunami was still ever chasing me. I ran all the faster.

After what seemed an eternity of running, I saw it — the enormous skyscraper where my father worked.

Standing in the door of the building, as if he’d expected me, was my father. He must have had heard of the tsunami. When he glimpsed my face, it lit up with relief, and his outstretched arms beckoned to me happily.

I was only yards away from safety when a giant explosion shattered my world. The jolt was so huge that the little girl was flung from my arms with a desperate cry.

I was thrown to the ground, and I unluckily landed on a sidewalk curb, facefirst. My nose crunched unpleasantly underneath me.

Blood pouring down my face, I stumbled to my feet and tried to remember where the little girl had landed. As the waves around me grew disturbingly larger, I looked desperately for the innocent child.

And there she was, ten feet away, trapped underneath a giant slab of asphalt. She wasn’t crying, but as our eyes met, she sent me a silent plea…

Without hesitation, I hurried to her side. I dug away the broken, crumbling asphalt hastily, but I knew I would be too late. Still, I struggled to free the poor child.

A horrible, thunderous roar rumbled behind me, and I knew that the wave was upon us. Closing my eyes helplessly, I turned around, put my grimy arm around the little girl…and prepared myself for the end.

The Beach

“Hey, Alex!! Come watch this!!”

 I looked up from the sandcastle I was molding. Brent, my little brother, was standing a few yards away, calling to me from behind a pile of rocks. I couldn’t see him, though; my view was blocked by the grayish-black ocean rocks that covered the area.

 When I didn’t get up right away, he shouted again, his tone more sour this time, “Come on, Alex!! Don’t you wanna see this?”

 Not really, I thought, thinking that this was probably just an interesting shell or something. All the same, I stood up, wiping sand off my legs, and walked toward him, just to pacify his complaints.

 While climbing over the sea rocks sitting between us, I accidentally stubbed my toe hard. Wincing, I balanced on one leg to nurse my stinging foot.

 When I looked up, there was no Brent in front of me. Confused, I clambered over the rest of the rocks, watching my step this time.

 Brent was nowhere to be found. The beach we had been relaxing on was fairly flat, and I could easily see for about a hundred yards in all directions. There was nowhere that Brent could have run to or hidden.

 “Psst!! Alex!!”

 I jumped as a voice came from practically underneath me. It had been Brent’s voice, but there was nothing on the ground but a small fiddler crab sunbathing on a broad black rock.

 “Alex!! Down here!!”

 The sound was definitely coming from below me. I stared at the fiddler crab suspiciously. It waved its big claw threateningly in reply. Wild notions came to my mind. Was something paranormal going on? What had happened to my brother?

 “ALEX!!”

 This time, it sounded as if my brother was calling me from above, where a lone seagull circled. What the heck was happening?

 “Over here!!” a rock called.

 “This way!!” an especially icky lump of seaweed yelled.

 “Don’t listen to them!! I’m right here!!” announced the fiddler crab again.

 Voices sounded all around me, echoing terribly and each my brother’s singsong voice. I spun around with every call, my eyes searching in vain for my brother’s familiar face.

 Finally, I broke out in a scream and, holding my ears, stumbled back over the rocks toward our family’s umbrella, where my mother was tanning. “Mom!!” I screamed. “Something’s happening!!”

 Suddenly, loud snickers erupted behind me, and I whirled around in surprise, my heart doing a sort of somersault. My brother emerged from a small nook between two rocks, grinning widely. “Hey, guess what, Alex? I think I’m a ventriloquist!!”

Siamese

Mark opened his eyes sleepily. Turning his head to the left slightly, he could see that his mischievous brother, Matthew, was still asleep. Thank goodness, he added silently.

 When he and Matthew were born, the doctors had been unable to separate their bodies without permanently harming or killing at least one of them, so their mother had chose for them to remain connected. When they were younger, this was fun, but eventually it began to frustrate Mark, the younger-by-one-second twin. Nothing was private, not even his deepest, darkest secrets. They even shared clothes. And just to rub it in, Matt, who didn’t care much about anything, made himself a reputation that kept everyone away from him, and therefore Mark. Oh, well, thought Mark. At least he’s a late sleeper.

 “Mark?”

 I stand corrected.

 “Yes, Matthew?” Mark answered tiredly.

 “Are you awake?”

 “I am now.”

 “Good, because I wanted to get up early today.”

 “But it’s five o’clock in the morning!!!”

 “I know, but I bet Nathan I could get up before five o’ one.”

 “Why five o’ one?”

 “Because that’s what the bet was.”

 Mark sighed exasperatedly. Nathan was Matt’s “best friend,” a.k.a. Mark’s worst enemy. He continuously dared Matthew to do stuff that he knew Mark would hate. Like getting up at five in the morning.

 “Mark?”

 “All right, all right, I’m up.”

 “Ok, let’s go.”

 “Go where?”

 “To meet Nathan, of course! He wouldn’t believe me if I just told him I woke up at five o’ one, so I have to show him.

 “You mean we.”

 “We what?”

 “We woke up at five, not just you.”

 “Oh, yeah. That.”

 Aggravated, Mark unwillingly was pulled out of bed by Matt. Unfortunately for Mark, Matt’s brain was the best connected to most of the nerves in their body, so he could move all of his side of the body and most of Mark’s.

 After they pulled on their personally-made outfit, they quietly slipped out of the house without their parents noticing. Mark was in a considerably sour mood and didn’t talk much. As the Siamese twins crossed a broad, dark road, Matthew’s unwelcome voice penetrated Mark’s spiteful thoughts.

 “Mark.”

 Mark ignored him.

 “Mark!!!”

 Surprised at the urgency in his brother’s voice, Mark lifted his head defiantly. “What do you want?”

 “MARK, watch out!!!!”

 Mark pivoted just in time to see a truck come speeding at them, unable to stop. A fiery pain erupted in his left torso, and everything was suddenly black.

 Mark forced his eyes open, wincing as dried mucus pulled at his skin. At first all he saw was white, white ceiling, walls and floor, but as his eyes became accustomed to the light he realized that he was in a hospital bed. He turned his head to the left out of habit, expecting his brother’s familiar face to greet his gaze, but there was an unusual emptiness. He realized that he was no longer connected to anyone and that there was a pain in his left side, but he didn’t care.

 He sat up straight in bed, wincing, and demanded to everyone within hearing range, “Where is my brother? Where is Matthew?”

 Unexpectedly, he saw his mother and father come rushing out of the crowd surrounding him and watched their knees buckle underneath them. Finally, his mother managed to choke out a broken, slightly incomprehensible sentence.

 “Mark, Matthew - Matthew is with Jesus now.”

 Mark stared at her, and suddenly, he understood.