The Black Death

Hope has died

September 14th 1349

  Dear diary,

                      Today has to have been the most terrible day in history. This morning, Espere’s buboes burst and he died. For as long as I live, I will never ever forgive the Plague Doctor. Mother and I sat by his body, tears plummeting down our cheeks. We cannot keep him inside our house. He has to be taken away. The shock of these recent happenings has increased my temperature and my head is burning hot. I have also vomited several times today. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can repair the damage inside my heart. Espere was my favourite person in the whole world and now he is gone forever. I have been lying down most of today. I have tried my hardest to rest but I can’t seem to get to sleep. I know that Espere lived the little life he had well. He was a boy with big dreams. Just like the lullaby I sang him two nights ago. But every song has to end and so does everyone’s life.

                                                   I do not wish to write about this anymore as that is the past. Presently, I am on a different journey-literally. I am not travelling on the road of sorrow, but now the road of hatred. In the evening, as Mother slept, I crept out of the house and made my way to the village. My wish is to find the Plague Doctor and make him sorry for what he did to my brother. He shall return our money and provide us with food; after all he must be rich. For now though, I am curled up outside in the freezing cold at the heart of the village. I hope Ma will not get worried about me but I have to get us a decent meal. I am all skin and bone and unable to sick up anything at all. I think I will get some rest now. Goodnight.

Autumn.