Notes on the Grippe

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Sixty Five

I sit in shadows staring at my correspondences. They sky is grey slate allowing no hint of the sun to appear. The geese cry out as they take flight.

My dreams were of an elusive, futile search for a lost ingredient for a cookie unlike any other. A taste so magnificent it made people weep with delight. I awoke with a yearning to discover what was lost, though no sense of what that might be or how to find it.

Exploration is conquest. To understand something is to possess it.

That is what so many strive to do with the grippe reborn. To understand the dread lord completely and so conquer him. But there is no absolute understanding, no knowledge so complete that he cannot find a way from our clutches. He is forever slipping away into the darkness, lost to us while he gathers his strength to try again.

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