Personal Narrative: My Mother's Death

The city was dead. My mother and I sat quietly in our tiny house, listening to the sound of digging and dropping. My father had just died the day before from the horrific sickness, the Black Plague. Everyone I knew had died, except for my mother.
My mother sat up and said, “Isabelle dear, maybe we should go for a walk.” My mother and I walked down the mournful streets of London. The air was foggy and stuffy. I could smell the smoke coming from the burning bodies down the road. I can hear sobs and cries. Everyone we passed was either weeping in pain of the sickness or in pain of losing their loved ones. We passed many people lying in the road, tearing off their clothes because of their burning fevers. Mother and I walked to a small shop to buy some

I will hurry over there and come straight back. Do not leave this room.” As soon as I watched my mother vanished around the corner, and I heard sound. It was a young girl. “Help! They boarded me up and I don’t have the plague!”
The voice was coming from the boarded up house across the street. My mother had told me to stay in this room, but she wouldn’t be back for at least another thirty minutes. I hurried into our kitchen and saw a hammer lying on the table. I grabbed it and hurried to the boarded up house. I was banging the hammer against the boards until a board came off. I slipped through the small crack and walked into the dark house. I saw a little boy that looked about the age of two, lying on the ground, dead. I walked up the stairs and saw a mother and father also dead, lying together on a bedroom floor. I walked into another room and behind me I heard, “Who are you?” I turned around, and saw a girl, about my age, curled up in the corner, with a knife in her hand. I quickly stepped back and said, “My name is Isabelle. I heard you calling for help so I came to help you.” The girl gradually set down the