As the air gets colder, crisper, the plague dies down. Fires are still being lit, more people become homeless and people still grow ill. The smell of death infects our house and I can't decipher the difference between the rotting food we have lying within our house, or if something lurks within our estate rotting as maggots knaw on the intestines within. I’m starting to go mad in this house of depression and starvation. If I stay another night I may just go insane, yet your mother refuses to leave your room, she's been cooped up there for the last year. No matter how much I beg and plead for her to come with me to your grave, to get fresh food for the house, to get a breath of fresh air, she denies, and denies, claiming that she cannot be without her baby. That your cries are her main priority so you can rest soundly once more. I cry to her, banging on the door from the outside, begging her to open her eyes and face the reality of your passing, but she refuses each time. Everyday she claims that she can feel you in her arms, your steady breathing and your soft whimpers as you cry at night. I pray to the gods above to open her eyes and let her see the truth within our reality, but nothing budges. Half the time I think she’s passed, perhaps I even pray she's dead. Pray she’s gone from this world so that I can live a normal life that's full of mourning and the ill. I pray you were here. Maybe then everything would be normal again.
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An entry A Day, Just to See You Once More
Spiritual[[An old highschool English assignment]] A young family of 35, living in an era of the 1600's face a dreadful fate after their daughter of 8 years old, died. Iphigenia, having been ill of a mysterious disease with no cure, passed off as the flu, pas...
