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 One Hundred Seventy Three

You took everything from me. Everything.

A scream in the distance, hoarse and broken, carried by the wind. Clenched fists and veins bulging from the neck. Trembling hands and shaking knees. Tears form and dry before they can fall. Stalking off to nowhere, eyes empty, unseeing.

You took it all. You took it all.

They come to the valley of the dead, kings and queens, trains of retainers following behind. The merchants’ satchels have hidden compartments where they have secreted jewels and spices. But nothing shall pass beyond, except the wind.

How could you? How could you?

There was a time, long ago, when they came as conquerors, proselytizing as they went. They were clamorous and assured, with proper methods and learnings they were certain to apply. The land broke them, turned them aside, left them as little more than dust and despair. Names collected in unread books.

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