Those ragged breaths come slower now, more laboured. I am worried that he will not make it this time. 'He is strong,' my mother would say, but since the sickness has savaged our land no one has been expected to live. She is gone now. 'She was a strong woman,'. People would say to me as a condolence. Father's breaths are becoming slower; his hands are even colder than they were a few hours ago. With a last shuddering breath his eyes close and a look of peace shows on his face. He is gone now. I am alone now, belonging to no one.
John, my betrothed was one of the first ones to die of the plague. I knew he was already sick before this happened, but he didn't go to the apothecary. He was to stubborn to, and he insisted that there was nothing wrong. I was there when he took his last breath.