Poison and Cure

II - Illness

بسم الله
In the name of God
July 23rd, 2004 7:33pm
Augusta, GA, Center of Decay

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"Sir?"

Mr. Silas is studying the liquid under the microscope with such intensity that I wonder how things moving could spark such curiosity. His body is bent awkwardly since his height prevents him from simply leaning down. However, despite his height, he's grasping the marble countertop to steady himself, as if he is too weak to stand on his own. This isn't the first time I've seen him do that, since he rarely stands by himself, often using the countertop. I've always wondered why I've never seen him use a chair or cane. There aren't any in his office, even at the desks.

It's been five months since I first met him, yet there are a few differences in his appearance; his face always seems the slightest bit flushed and his hair has grown longer. I became used to the short, Leonardo DiCaprio look but then he stopped cutting it so it rests an inch or two below his ears, often clipped back by a black ponytail or a ivory claw clip. His facial hair as well is a little longer, like a thin beard but it's not full or large. A bit more than a 9/o'clock shadow.

Allaahumma barik.

As well as things like hair and flushed skin, he seems a bit more healthy. Not much, but at the beginning, his hands would turn white from gripping the counter to support his weight. Now, he still uses the counter but with less urgency and frequency, often standing on his own.

A soft noise is heard when he places an Erlenmeyer flask filled with a gooeyish deep-red liquid on metal mesh and a little stand of some sort. As still as stone, he opens a small open blue flame under the glass to heat it. He turns his attention to a row of test tubes, all filled with a clear-ish fluid. He begins to mix pipettes of the red liquid into the clear.

"Sir?"

"Hm?" He makes a quizzical noise, and his hands halt their movement before resuming.

"This is kind of personal, but what illness do you have?"

He then returns to his previous tasks and pours the heated red, blood-like liquid to the 300ml mark in a 500ml Volumetric flask,

"Ingenuity, and it's incurable."

"Funny, but I meant along the lines of physical illness. Unfortunately, I don't know a better way to say this, but you seem unusually frail."

Mr. Silas huffs, and grabs a flask of something clearish and gooey, like saliva.

"I was a prematurely born therefore I didn't function properly. My height would skyrocket and my health would plumet as I got older. It got worse when I performed an experiment on myself, but I have no regrets. My curiosity is satisfied, alhamdulilah."

He pours the saliva-like liquid into the red until the line of liquid raises to the 400ml line.

"Did you know the experiment would harm you?"

"Yes."

"Why carry out the experiment?"

"Well, I'm not a coward, Miss October," he remarks, a small smile crossing his face, "Why wouldn't I?"

"What experiment was it?"

"That is enough questions about that."

His voice is final, like the settling of an old house.

"Okay. Mr. Silas, why don't you use chairs, then?"

Heaving a sigh, he responds, "I do not care about ease or pain, I only want recorded results."