Red

March 18, 1349

It has been more than a year since my last entry. I did not have the heart to make any. The plague has finally left our midst, decimating half of our populous. Our neighbors bodies dumped before our eyes into mass graves as though they are nameless faces. Immunity is rare, but our blood was rich in it thanks to our father who survived the plague when he was just a boy. My mother had not survived. When the plague hit the year before, my mother and I would still visit the village unaware of the presence of death. Had she realized that it were coming, she might be alive today. Her grave lies on the only hilltop near our home.

I must trek the road to the village today alone for my family to sell crop. I am afraid to do so without my mothers presence, for my heart may not be strong enough for the memories or the possibility to be sacrifice.

My return to the village was swift. The plague had taken its toll on those I once knew. I was shocked to see the butchers son still there. We had grown accustomed to the exchange of smiles before the plague hit. Today however the smile was gone. We shortly glanced at one another as I passed by exchanging only head nods. I just threw my mother's old red cloak's hood on in distress.