A Quest West
The Daily Routine of Death
Imagine waking up every morning to something horrible. Always something different and always making you jump and blindly freak out. Today Ann was screaming, almost like a whisper but screaming nonetheless. I put my hand over her mouth and glared stilettos at her.
“What is wrong with you?” I quietly screeched at her.
“Dad says that there is a lot of cholera going around, its very contagious, deadly and there is no cure,” she continued her silent wail which momentarily woke up more people. Eventually I just shoved a pickle in her mouth.
“Here,” I snapped, “they prevent scurvy, maybe it will help with cholera too.”
“Laura…” she began, but I just turned around and closed my eyes again. Eventually she started to hesitantly gnaw the snack and I half-slept until we started to move again.
More deaths then ever struck today. Many people were left dying so we could keep moving. I cant even begin to describe how selfish it feels to leave their last words unknown as we just trudge on to lands of mystery. Eventually we began having people assigned to stay with them until death, which was usually within 24 hours. They dig the grave and catch up with the group. I cannot fathom the awkward but horrible grief of watching your own grave being made, I fear some may even be buried alive in the rush. I now understand Ann’s manic fit over learning about the disease.
Peter continues to be quiet and his journal has become a sketch pad. Other dangers have been unearthed recently too. Necessities are hard to get and wagon accidents are nearly daily. Some people have gone mad from dehydration. They sometimes slice off the ears of their mules for blood in hopes of getting some liquid into their systems.
Mom has fallen ill but luckily it’s nothing horrible. We are quite fortunate compared to most but times are becoming harder. We have all grown significantly thinner, including our oxen and poor dog. One of my greatest fears is that we may soon have to get rid of our dog. This night we were all irrationally suspicious, almost as though we were on watch for diseases that may try to assault the camp. Each breath was taken as though it could be the last. Guess who was correct with that notion?
“What is wrong with you?” I quietly screeched at her.
“Dad says that there is a lot of cholera going around, its very contagious, deadly and there is no cure,” she continued her silent wail which momentarily woke up more people. Eventually I just shoved a pickle in her mouth.
“Here,” I snapped, “they prevent scurvy, maybe it will help with cholera too.”
“Laura…” she began, but I just turned around and closed my eyes again. Eventually she started to hesitantly gnaw the snack and I half-slept until we started to move again.
More deaths then ever struck today. Many people were left dying so we could keep moving. I cant even begin to describe how selfish it feels to leave their last words unknown as we just trudge on to lands of mystery. Eventually we began having people assigned to stay with them until death, which was usually within 24 hours. They dig the grave and catch up with the group. I cannot fathom the awkward but horrible grief of watching your own grave being made, I fear some may even be buried alive in the rush. I now understand Ann’s manic fit over learning about the disease.
Peter continues to be quiet and his journal has become a sketch pad. Other dangers have been unearthed recently too. Necessities are hard to get and wagon accidents are nearly daily. Some people have gone mad from dehydration. They sometimes slice off the ears of their mules for blood in hopes of getting some liquid into their systems.
Mom has fallen ill but luckily it’s nothing horrible. We are quite fortunate compared to most but times are becoming harder. We have all grown significantly thinner, including our oxen and poor dog. One of my greatest fears is that we may soon have to get rid of our dog. This night we were all irrationally suspicious, almost as though we were on watch for diseases that may try to assault the camp. Each breath was taken as though it could be the last. Guess who was correct with that notion?