As The Yellow Storm Approaches

As The Yellow Storm Approaches

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"August 18, 1793, This heat is killing me. But I am so cold. My body shivers as if I had just run out in the snow barefoot, but I sweat as if I just ran with a herd of wild horses. My hands were shakey as I lifted them up to inspect them. My skin looked deathly pale, and—just as I thought—a tint of yellow. The sweat rolled down my face, making the tears coming from my eyes look natural. But I knew they weren't. Why is she crying, you may ask? Well I would ask myself the same thing, if I hadn't already known the answer. The fever. It got me. The Yellow Fever. I'm dying... I'm" This is a project for history, actually. It is about the Yellow Fever epidemic that went around the US in 1793. It will be from the vantage points of many different people. People that had it, people that have it, and people who don't. Please enjoy!
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Romeo sat patiently, holding onto Specs' hand tightly. He watched the doctor's every step, nervousness set on his heart. "Hey, Doc", Specs greeted, trying to offer a smile. He looked better than Hell. "What'd you find?" Romeo wasn't sure Specs could see it, noting he couldn't see anything without his glasses on-he talked about having a headache earlier, and took them off for that reason-but the doctor had a rather solemn look on her face, as if she just learned that someone was going to die. Romeo prayed. "Doc?" "You're results came back", she sighed, keeping it brief. Romeo wanted to yell at her, telling her how he knew the results came back, but he was on the edge of his seat in fear. "I have some news." "What's he got?" Romeo sniffled, trying to keep in his tears and not think of the worse. "Pneumonia?" Specs had had pneumonia before, when he was a kid. He told the story all the time, and Romeo knew it made him feel strong. He'd always say he could beat anything, but Romeo also knew it wasn't that simple. "A few respiratory infections, yes", the doctor agreed, glancing back at her chart. That was fine. Specs could take antibiotics for it and be good as new. "But there's something else. Your white blood cell count was low." Romeo glanced at Specs, worried out of his mind. He knew it. He saw every sign and didn't do shit about it; it's his fault. He should've forced Specs to get checked out. He should've done better. "Cancer?" That seemed to be the worse option. Yet, the doctor shook her head. "Worse, perhaps." What could be fucking worse than cancer? ------------------------ A Spromeo story set in the 1980s Themes of: -Drinking/Drugs -Hospitals -Swearing/Cussing -Mentions of sex and STDs -Homosexuality -Death Please read at your own discretion.

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