Creative Writing: The Epidemic Of Death

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My crew has slowly gotten smaller and smaller in the past two months. Only twenty of us remain and more of us are getting sick every day. However, we are at our last stop in Barcelona and then I’m returning home to you soon. Our captain has told us we need to stay here until we unload the rest of the cargo which take exceptionally longer when half your men are dead or sick. I'm worried that I am not entirely well and have an agonising headache. I’ve gotten my blood letted so that I am safe from the disease. Francis believes that the epidemic that spread through our crew is a punishment from god for locking our sick in the cellar. Maybe he is right maybe what we did is punishable by death. One more day here and then I'll finally be home.
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