Nepenthe

Saturday had come once again.

I was restless; I didn’t hesitate to rush back to the library.
I stepped through the wood, tightly clinging onto an old journal that I borrowed from my mother.

“Christopher?”

No response.

I let out a small sigh before walking to the east end of the building – I’m sure that I’ll have time to finish The Plague before he comes; if he comes.

I stopped, hearing shallow breathing further down the way; I remained where I was for a moment before continuing with caution until I reached the end.

There he was, asleep against the bookshelf with his burgundy journal in hand.

I frowned slightly – how long had he been waiting?

“Christopher?”
I knelt down next to him, gently placing a hand onto his shoulder.

His eyes slowly opened before looking around, dazed.

“Am I dead yet…?”

My eyes widened at his statement.

“W-What? No…!” – I let out a nervous laugh – “You were asleep.”

When his eyes finally met mine, he snapped out of it.

“Sorry…I didn’t realize you were there, Victor. Shall we start?”

He slowly sat up, letting out a couple of raspy coughs into his handkerchief in the process.

“So, what word has caught your interest this week?”
“I…uh…”

I opened my own journal and flipped through seven pages – they were filled with various telephone numbers and recipes –, stopping at the desired one.

“‘Phosphenes. Noun. A sensation of light caused by excitation of the retina by mechanical or electrical means rather than by light, as when the eyeballs are pressed through closed lids.’ I found it when I stumbled upon an old neurology textbook.”

When I say “stumbled”, I meant that I literally tripped over the book since it was lying on the ground and I wasn’t paying much attention.

“All right. Now why did it interest you?”

“Well, I did tend to wonder what those bright, purple, hazy dots were from time to time. They were somewhat annoying for the most part when I’d wake up and try to walk down the stairs. The bastards wouldn’t let me see where I was going.”

A moment of silence before it was interrupted by him snorting.

The blood rushed to my cheeks.

“W-What’s so funny?!”
“Nothing! Absolutely nothing.”

I didn’t argue it any further because he was smiling.

And his pale complexion was brought to life again.

“I-I held up my end of the bargain…! It’s your turn now.”
“Right. I’m sorry.”

He was still smiling as he opened his journal – I smiled at the fact that it hadn’t faded yet.

“‘Pareidolia. Noun. The instinct to seek familiar forms in disordered images like clouds or constellations; the perception of random stimulus as significant.’ As a child, I used to lay on the roof of my home with my father and we would watch as the clouds passed over, discussing what images we saw. Every once in a while, we would see the same image. I would be ecstatic when he agreed to the image I saw. Now…I haven’t done so in years.”

The smile began to fade, but I couldn’t allow that to happen.

“There’s a ladder in here that leads to the roof. We can go and watch the clouds from up there.”
“I-I don’t know…”

“Trust me. It’ll be a little fun, you know?”
I gave him a reassuring smile, and eventually he returned it.

“All right, Victor. You’ve convinced me.”

He stood up, grabbing his belongings and putting them back into his messenger bag.
However, I noticed something on his handkerchief that I hadn’t before.

Red.

“Are you coming?”
“Y-Yeah…!”

I stood up and followed after him, frowning with worry.

Exactly what is happening to you, Christopher?