My Plague Letter
March 13,1348
Dear Brother Joseph,
The apocalypse is upon us. Elodie is in bed with sin on her arms. Each of these oozing, rough bumps is the size of a ripe orange. She says they sting and can’t ever get up from bed, for the ones on her groin will put her in agony. She wakes up every night, screaming. My wife’s silk touch has left us as has everything else she had to offer. Damn the flagellants. Every single one of those damned souls. My wife took Edmond with her who was to be my apprentice in two sennights. Crazy woman. My son had done no wrong. Whipping him was the only sin she committed. I am being driven crazy with fear. In the thirty one years I have been alive, I have never seen such terrors as this. Elodie seems to be fading in and out of our world. The devil brings her to Hell and back. God has abandoned us just as the Pope and bishops have. Elodie has been shaking in bed, while her nose bleeds sin. Her skin turned black as if she was roasting under a fire. I fear every breath she takes is her last. I do miss Edmond, who had no pestilence. The devil had no interest in Edmond. Though he died pitifully like the rest. The miasmas seeped inside my poor, Edmond. Miasmas went in Edmond and bloody sin came out. The town is in anarchy. The flagellants burned down ten houses today. I think I will leave town. I pack my bags while Elodie pleads for me to bring her with me.
The piper’s flute no longer plays. It just sits next to him, covered in blood like him. The sound of his flute is replaced with screams for mercy and the wailing of the flagellants. The sweet smells from the bakery has been replaced with the smell of death. The beautiful streets of France are no longer beautiful. The streets are painted red. Unfortunately, not with paint. Money is scarce. I have barely enough money to buy food for me. I can not let Elodie starve though. But then things got worse. Lately Elodie refuses to eat. I will not let her starve though. She seems lifeless, as if she is a giant puppet, resting on the puppeteer’s shelf. I attempted to pop the bumps of Hell on her arm. She screamed when I popped the first one. I could not bear to hear her scream, so I stopped. That was about one hour ago. I have lost all hope. France has lost all hope. We will all die soon enough. I have stopped trying to fight it. I have lost my job, for no one wants merchants to come with the risk of the pestilence and miasmas hitching a ride. I can no longer stand the wrath of God. There is no one to save us now. I might as well kill myself. Quick and painless. Elodie too. Yes, that will be fine. No, that won’t. I apologize. I can not think straight knowing that I could die at any second. Last sennight, I was walking with one of my closest friends and his cousin. The cousin started coughing. He even coughed on my friend, Edgar Holtzman. Then it happened. His cousin started to shake. He fell on the ground, and became a fountain of blood. First he coughed some blood, then he started to vomit blood. Two days later, my friend had the same fate. Just when it seemed things could not get much worse, one of my good friend in Spain told me that the prince of Spain could not think straight ever since the death of his beloved Joanne.
No castle wall, no set of doors, no matter how thick, can stop this horror. This is a never ending apocalypse. When you get this, do not write me back. It is a waste of paper and ink. Just meet me at the bottom of the hills in four sennights. If you do not find me there, I am dead. Another victim of this never ending form of Hell on Earth.
Hope to see you at the hills,
Axel Leon
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