Lord, I wish I could speak to my Mialle, not scribble my thoughts on damp pages. But it’s all I’ve got left. And it’s all I’ll ever have, isn’t it? I do wonder, how long till the plague takes me? Is it days that I have, or mere hours? When the weakness overtakes me, will I feel it’s the end? Or will I have the strength to stand up once more? Still, I don’t believe I’ll recover. Breathing alone becomes a chore.
I just hope they will be fine. Please, God, spare them. I left as soon as I felt ill. I will die here alone, and I’ll die praising your name, Lord, as long as you make the plague spare my family.
Though as I lie here, I can’t help but wonder – are we the lucky ones? The ones whom you take to your Kingdom, instead of leaving them to strife in the valley shrouded in death?
I do not know, Lord. I do not know a single thing anymore, it seems. But you do, so I shall leave my wife and daughters in your hands.