A little boy appeared before my door in a bird mask with a hooked beak and soulless eyes. The heavy black cape brought me back to a time where I’m dead by now. The rash that bubbles up under my skin when I am stressed looks like mild sunburn compared to the puckered and rippling purple sores covering a body. In another life, was I staring up into a face That promises death? And I gave the boy some candies, grateful that I was not alive during the time when I would have given the plague doctor my soul.