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 Seventy Six

The first thunderstorm of the year awoke me in the dead of the night. The lightning cascaded from the clouds, so many strikes that the sky went white and light filled the bedroom like it was midday. The thunder groaned and roared, near and then far. A hard rain followed.

I listened for a time to the storm, not bothering trying to return to sleep, letting all that clamour wash over me, while the flashes filled my eyes with light.

Eventually I returned to sleep, though it was restless, filled with dreams of terrible battles. Artillery sounded in the distance, cannons booming, threatening to come nearer. We waited and watched the skies, uncertain whether to flee.

I awoke to an overcast sky, the air heavy with moisture, my mind uneasy.

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