A sad tale about what can happen when we sometimes don't know how, or maybe don't have the courage to ask for help...and how every life matters.
Ahem...before for anybody says anything, this is tongue in cheek. Every morning, before I do anything else, I give myself 10 minutes (no more) to write a really loose sonnet about whatever comes into my head. My only rule is it has to rhyme. Nothing else matters - I don't even have to agree with what I'm writing. Technically, as sonnets they're pretty damned dire - but that doesn't matter either. By the time I'm done the mind has warmed up.
We are back in 1494. As preparations begin to combat the plague, it seems some people do not like the idea of a foreign apothecary taking charge of their fate. Meanwhile, the Priest's dislike of the Apothecary is deepened as the church becomes a hospital.