The year is 1350, and the black death has hit thousands- including my friend. I am 23 years old, a good age, starting to get old. With a husband in work, I am a housewife and so is my friend Margaret. She had three children and unfortunately they passed away. A year ago Margaret and her children were hit hard by the black death, unable to afford a real doctor Margaret's husband used vinegar and rose water and let his family rest in their beds. It was a terrible time for that family. Margaret and her immune system pushed through the illness but her children could not. They were still young when this occurred and though Margaret holds back tears I know she somehow blames herself for their deaths. That was why I had made up my mind, I had used extra money from work and allowances and I had picked up art supplies. It might have been crazy but there was a piece that I thought might ease Margaret's suffering. So, I painted and I sketched and soon the once blank canvas turned to a scene of death being a comfort to Margaret's children - of death being someone to shield the nasty truths of our world and all the pain and suffering. When this was finished I just knew that it was worth it. When I showed it to Margaret she forgot about holding back those tears and she let them flow down her face letting out a sob that was filled with pain and torment, and I sat there with her for a while not speaking a word letting her cry into my shoulder until she was done. She turned then, and she thanked me- she thanked me for doing... what though? What was the cost, some money? When I heard my friend let out that pent up sob I KNEW it had all been worth it. It would always be worth it as long as this world was imperfect.
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The Black death- a short narrative
历史小说A woman whos friend was hit hard by the loss of her children decides to do some good.
