Late evening had set in. He sat there, at his desk, his head lying sideways on a large book, his hand gripping a small red vial. He lazily turned the vial this way and that, letting it catch the remaining rays of sun, letting it entice him. He would be willing to fall victim to its spell.
He happily listened to the silence, a symphony not heard by him for many months. It was a convincing and dangerous sound. In this silence, he heard whispers; ancient beings deciding upon what they should have him do. One sip of that murky liquid would cause hallucinations, followed by searing pain. Perhaps it would not lead to death, but he would pray for it all the same. Two sips would cause his stomach to burn and he would become nauseous, doubling over with uncontrollable vomiting. He wondered if it was worth it. Frighteningly, it was. Three sips would be the last of the liquid and of him.
His eyes began to tear, as he wondered what death would feel like; he wondered if it would be like falling asleep. He wondered what God would look like, what he would say, what he would say to God. That was, if God was the one he would be seeing. It was plausible that he would not see God, that he would see The Devil instead. And what if she was there? Would she remember him? Would she still hate him, or would she forgive him?
He suddenly realized that he was weeping and wiped the few tears from his cheeks. Vial in hand, he stood up. He gripped the vial, as though it was the hand of his guide. He let the hand lead him to the balustrade. Peering down into the square he almost longed to see her. Had she been there, the need for the vial would be null and void. She would be alive and there would be some reason to live.
He opened the small vial, sniffing the dark liquid within. A pungent odor hit him, almost knocking him to his knees. The vial, like her held hidden warnings. He cautiously brought the vial to his lips, letting the guide gently kiss his lips. In one sip, the world began to melt into some unrecognizable medley of colors. His knees felt wobbly, and his arms felt detached from his torso. He felt the ground shake, though he knew in the back of his mind that everything had remained calm and still. He had taken one sip and had already lost track of time. One sip, two sips…one more sip and every question would be answered.
