A Black death story, Selena Bonner [top 100 books to read txt] 📗

Dear Diary, March 7th, 1665
My dear family is so frightened, frightened of our own neighbors. They are frightened of small children that play in the stone streets and jump rope. They are frightened of small boys that play ball in their yards gleefully. They are frightened of their mothers and fathers. I plead to mother to go out to the market and to buy some more apples because I am so dearly hungry. She shakes her head and hushes my cry.
“Please be patient now, Amelia, we will buy food soon, right now you just have to wait,” mother would say. I am never good at waiting. I am very impatient.
It wasn’t my idea to have a diary. Mother told me too. She said it would help learn how to write letters. It’s the least I can do right now.
I sit in my room and write in my notebook. My room is very small, with only a bed and a small wardrobe that contains my dresses and coats. The wooden floor is hard and old, but I do not mind. A small mirror hangs next to the door. While I sit on my bed, I can glance up to see myself in the mirror. My eyes adjust and my figure slowly appears. My long brown hair is up into a pony tail and my blue eyes stare at the unknown girl. I am very pale. Mother says that anyone could mistaken me with a cold. Dark circles shadow my eyes from no sleep at night. I almost smiled at myself, but stopped short. I can only wish that I could smile at a moment like this.
Sincerely,
Amelia Right

Dear Diary, March 27th, 1665
I understand now why my family was so frightened. Father has the disease. He is so weak, he lays in bed all day. I come in to see him, but I never get close. Mother warned me ever so sternly to stay away from him as much as possible. When I walked into the bedroom, father had his eyes closed, but I could tell he was not sleeping. He looked like me, pale, thin and frail. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly.
“Hello dearest,” he murmured. From his chin to his feet, the bed sheets covered him. There was nothing behind his face, as if he was a hollow tree. He was normally so strong and healthy-looking, but now, he was nothing. He readjusted his neck, and I almost cried out. I saw a bubble, a bubble on his skin. A bubble on his neck. It was black as if someone stuck an ash under his skin. I looked away quickly toward the other side of the wall. Then I ran out the door as fast as I could.
At supper, mother served soup for all of us. We barely had food left. My two older sisters, Rachel and Elizabeth were twins, while my younger brother, Abe, was only six years of age. While all of us children ate, mother disappeared into her bedroom with a bowl of soup in her hands. She reappeared just a few minutes later and returned to her seat at the table.
Later in the evening, before the sun set in the sky, Reverend John walked up to our porch. I watched him from my window. He open his Bible and said a few words. I could only watch from inside. He dipped a brush into some red paint, and painted on our door. I couldn’t tell what he was painting from where I sat. He then walked down the cobblestone street.
I wonder about father. I wonder about my family. I wonder what will happen to Rachel and Elizabeth and Abe. I wonder what will happen to me.
I wonder what the weeks will bring.
Sincerely,
Amelia Right

Dear Diary, April 14th, 1665
My father. My father that stayed strong for all these weeks, longer than any other person in England that I could ever know. My father died yesterday, of a Black death. And now Elizabeth has it. She lays in bed all day, vomiting right onto her legs because she is too sick to get up. She rubs her head and complains that her head aches. She lays in bed all day, waiting for death to put her out of her misery. I see the bubbles on Elizabeth too. I count them each day, hoping I will get the same number. There are two on her neck and one under each arm. No others have appeared, but they grow bigger and bigger as the days grow on.
I asked her, “Elizabeth, what do you want to do, before your time on this earth is over?” She thought a moment, then she smiled faintly.
“I want to have a bite of mother’s apple bread, then I want to sleep soundly.” She sounded so sure, I was going to tell mother about what she wanted, but I stopped short. Of course we couldn’t have apple bread, we don’t have what we need to make it. I felt so sad. My sister is going to die hungry.
Sincerely,
Amelia Right

Dear Diary, April 20th, 1665
I was correct. I sat by my dear sister while she was taking her last breaths. Her neck had two black bubbles on each side. They were the size of oranges. They were cut at the top, with pus oozing out. I only kept my eyes on her frail face. She sneezed to the other side of the bed. Elizabeth was careful as to not get me infected. She wheezed constantly and every breath was a struggle.
“You will be okay, Elizabeth, no matter what happens to your body, your soul will be just as powerful.” I reassured. She sighed deeply and I thought that might’ve been her last breath. It wasn’t. She couldn’t fight anymore. She could barely talk. She could barely eat and drink.
“Go to sleep,” I told her. She nodded very weakly. She closed her eyes slowly. I stood up and took a glance at her one more time. She looked up at me, then she closed her eyes once more. I quietly left her room and ran to my room.
As though everyone else had the disease, we all kept quiet and stayed away from each other. I never saw Abe, he stayed in his room and Mother would be cleaning. Rachel reads in her room which she shares with Elizabeth. I would stay in my room. The only time we came together was for supper. We never had lunch or breakfast, we only had enough food for supper. Mother only gave food to Elizabeth in the morning, so she could grow stronger. But Elizabeth refused, she didn’t want to have home remedies done on her, she didn’t want to spoil food, she just wanted to sleep. I try to tell mother, but she never listens.
“Your sister must get stronger to live,” she repeated for the third time as she mopped the floor. I fled to my room and decided to draw in my diary. I drew of father and mother together and Elizabeth in bed sleeping and Abe playing with his toy soldiers and Rachel eating soup. I drew me in the mirror. I know mother would yell at me if she found me drawing in my diary, but I think she has too much to worry about now to think of me.
And now I lay on my bed on the stroke of midnight. The town is quiet and still. My house is quiet and still.
Sincerely,
Amelia Right

Dear Diary, May 1st, 1665
I did something I wouldn’t have dared to do before, but what else could’ve gone wrong? I went outside.
While mother was sound asleep, Rachel and Abe were locked in their bedrooms, I ventured outside to see if it ever changed. It looked so much different then it did from the inside. The sun shone on the rooftops of houses and clouds spotted the sky. I breathed in the outdoor smell. In the distance, I saw black rats scrambling around. They had deep red eyes and dirty, rough hair. They scurried along the streets and scrounged for food. I looked at them in disgust and continued on my effortless pace.
I reached the park easily and looked around. There, swinging lonesome on the swings, was a small girl. She had greasy blonde hair with a ragged, dirty dress. She didn’t wear any shoes, thus her feet were covered in dirt. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. She had a scratch that went up her nose and to her eyebrow. She got up off the swings and started walking toward me. I stepped back cautiously, but still she continued.
“My head hurts,” she groaned. I kept backing up as she stepped forward.
“My head hurts,” she kept repeating. Tears fell down onto her cheeks like a rock slide. Her hair brushed off her shoulder in the breeze and there I saw one of the bubbles, just starting off. It was the same color of her skin and was smaller then a grape.
“Get away,” I breathed.
“My head hurts!” she screamed. I turned and ran out of the park and into the woods. I heard her in the distance, repeating those horrid words. I ran and ran, dodging trees and bushes. I held my dress up as I kept running. There I wished I could fly, and drown by the blue, bright sky.
After