I was seven when the black death happened. It was in 1346 when the Mongols attacked in Europe. Father and I would always have interesting conversations about all the different attacks that occurred. My mother and I were leaving on a ship with many different men. The disease was spreading so quickly I can see the swelling almost the size of an apple on the armpits. My father had to be tossed in the ocean because the swelling would only get worse. Everybody could see that the blood and pus was coming out. “Mama?” I was going to ask about my father. What was going to happen after those men tossed him out of the ship. “Yes darling” she said and I can see the tear falling down her pale face. “Where is father now?” I knew he was thrown in the
