There were screams and I screamed along too on the 9th of August…
That last night I had noticed a bubo under my arm whilst I was swatting away a most persistent flea. I wept and wept, thinking I would be found years later as a skeleton in the cupboard. Someone upstairs was also screeching, so I guessed they also were afflicted.
In the morning I began vomiting. I threw off the sheets for I had a terrible fever. I let out a screech, clenching my teeth. The pain was unbearable. I banged my fist against the wall, in pure agony. Unlike Elizabeth, the Black Death made me panic, and I didn’t try to be calm. Poor, sweet Elizabeth. I cried for her and Mama especially. Their departures had changed my life. They made me realise how much I missed them, and how it is important to forgive. God is right. I prayed to God to cure me. I did not want to die. I wanted to live. I vomited and screeched. I pulled myself up and started stretching and jumping. It made me feel sicker though. I lay back down, and waited for time to pass.
YOU ARE READING
Witch of the Plague
Historical FictionEvery day as she walks to work, Rose Marshall is tormented by the village children for being the daughter of a witch. Soon, they will cease their chants, because the year is 1348, and the Black Death is coming to Henwick village, and will claim as...
