In the year of our Lord, two thousand and nineteen, the small college community at Goucher experienced the wrath of the Gods on a scale to rival that of the destruction of Troy. The first victim, may Hades have mercy on their soul, succumbed to the Plague during syllabus week. The poor, sickened fellow failed to isolate the Plague and it further spread among the populace. The Plague was small, the commonfolk were distracted, and the petty qualms of class work took precedent. It was our mistake, for the deadly Plague would prove unstoppable.
If only the Goddess Hygieia would rescue us, for no less than two weeks ago, classes lost attendance. Professors were teaching empty classes. Groups were understaffed, and presentations were compelled to be rescheduled. What exaggerated the spread of the Plague was the blizzard.
The class studying Near East politics, normally comprising of twenty, was diminished to ten. Learning was a failure, not for the fault of any faculty or students, but for the lack of attendance. The library was overcome with the coughing, sparing not even the quiet floors. It was close to the point of needing to employ an asymptomatic carrier, to remove those who have passed on, to the lower world.
The blizzard, now named Kevin, punished the populace at our moment of weakness. The snowball fights and ice skates left the castle gates open to our bodies for the Plague to enter. Too many betrayed their defences, there was no stopping the Plague.
One of the most affected communities were out diplomats who just returned from a campaign in the City of Tea Parties. The seventeen fought well, but upon their return, they were subjected to the most brutal assault. Excessive travel was the culprit for it lowered their defences and left them helpless against the Plague.
With all the pieces now set, the true extent of the brutality begun. Plague spread through the dorms. No student was safe, with nowhere to hide. One had to dress with a beak stuffed with flowers and a dark thick cloth, and must wield a big wooden spoon to poke things away from thyself. The miasma permeated the air, sparing but a few.
For one to undergo the suffering of the Plague meant certain misery. It starts with one’s nose becoming diuretic requiring constant maintenance. As the sickness spreads within the body, one’s throat become dysfunctional. Coughing incessantly, like one with consumption, ensures discourse with compatriots is unobtainable. Such early symptoms are disproportionately easy when compared to what follows. After a few days time, one develops an elevated in the head, not to the point of ego, but to the extent of one’s soul ablaze. The fire spreads across the joints down to one’s inner being. Such extent is not seen with any other sickness, and one can never fully recover from such misery.
Hades would not be appeased until his bowels were filled, but after some time the sickness did yield. Victims were left to recover and lick their wounds. Few believe it will be over, for the Plague emerges every semester to varying degrees of destruction. This will not be the last, but it was the worst this generation of Gophers have experienced.