August 13, 1215, the Year of Our Lord:
The worst possible scenario has befallen us: the king of our fair town has fallen ill with the terrifying plague symptoms; there's no telling whether he will ever recover or not. I saw the blackish "bulboes" adorning the king's legs and armpits, and I knew that death must surely be near.
We have taken to wearing garlic around our necks, in the desperate hopes that the smell will keep the pestilence at bay or at least keep the rats away. O, curs'd rats: they are the bane of our existance, the sheer cause of this utter misery that's befallen us yet again!!
August 19, 1215:
King Wilheim has passed away. Dead. Another victim of this, the "Black Death", as people have come to call this "plague". I don't know if I can keep running like this; eventually, the plague might find me and claim me as its next victim. Once a person sickens with it, they might as well dig their own grave: death must surely be near. It is my worst fear right now: to fall prey to this insidious killer plague!
August 20, 1215:
I don't know what is going to happen to me now. I no longer have a place to call home. Alone, runnin' the streets again. And with this plague afoot, there's no place that seems to be safe. I continue to wear my garlic necklaces (eat some of it too if I get hungry, which seems to be a constant companion of mine as of late) and utter desperate prayers to the Lord above, but I doubt He even hears my cries ...
August 30, 1215:
Ten days later, and this beastly "black" plague still follows us. More and more people dying; their bloated bodies lie in piles in the streets; the smell of fire and death is all about me as I look for yet another place to hunker down for the night: seems the only safe haven for me lately is the woods -- and then I run the risk of getting captured by bad people or eaten up by wild animals. O, the horror! O, the agony! Suddenly death seems to be a most welcome respite ...
September 10, 1215:
Curses! I have fallen ill with this plague; seems that I have developed some of its terrifying symptoms: high fever. Difficult breathing. Severe prostration. Severe weakness. Terrible, pounding, unrelenting headache. Uncontrollable chills. Vomiting. Even the egg-shaped bulboes have started making their dreaded appearance upon my own person. O, woe is me; I might as well be writing my obituary!!
*to be continued.*