Because I Love You ~

Ch 3 - 2

Senkath drifts back into the villa, buying a newspaper from a stand and flipping through the headlines aimlessly. The air was rather dry and cool here, allowing the newspaper to be sold without cover; come to think of it, he hadn't noticed the presence of rain or strong winds ever since he arrived at Akrasia. It was an odd location, geographically speaking, situated between deciduous and boreal biomes, but the weather (the lack of it, more so) seemed to be dictated by the towering peaks near his house. Even the greatest storms would dissipate into the hazy fog that enveloped the town, leaving an occasional scattering dew but never being subject to precipitation.

He flips through columns of drama and sports matches from a week prior, laughs in disdain at the ill-fated attempts at bawdy humor, and skims through headlines, preparing to throw the paper away before a title catches his eye: Return of the Asian Demons? Graves Unearthed!

The preposterousness of the title matched with grossly disfigured drawings of buck teeth and squinty eyes intrigues him and he shakes his head in forlorn disappointment. Akrasia had been mostly conservative for a while, but the surrounding counties (to which the isolated villa received its news) approached differing racial profiles to the extremities of xenophobia and blatant stereotyping. He had felt it too, when he arrived, an Indian painted the color of roasted hazelnuts and numerous shades deeper than his fair-skinned counterparts. Dr. Sotto had approached him with welcoming hands, beckoning him to the northern outskirts of the village where he now lived. The doctor everyone as a potential patient, but the other villagers couldn't resist sly glances and mumbling gossip; the rumors of your past successes and tragic downfall only worked to alienate you while your mental relapses (including conversations with 'people' who were not physically present) led even the bravest people away from your doorstep. Senkath didn't mind. Historically established as a sanatorium for mental patients, the town treated him with respect, largely keeping to themselves. Akrasia was quaint, tranquil with its verdant scenery, and trained in the private notion of not asking questions.

Senkath was shocked to find sparse bits of facts connected within strings of blatant lies:

The Torajan people of Indonesia celebrate a festival known as the Ma'nene ritual, where they dress up the corpses of their deceased loved ones and parade them around. Any group of people so familiar with corpses must be responsible for the recent disappearances in graves. People have been found missing in Rosemount, Duluth, and even the isolated Akrasia. They are the aliens attacking our society from within, the plague from another continent! They are the alien within us, and we must hunt them down! Pictures of these heinous asian monsters are shown on page 31

Senkath paled instinctively, though he could not understand why. The air felt heavy in his lungs, weighing him down as the newspaper crumpled in his hands. Graves from Akrasia were overturned? But he had just passed by and everything had seemed normal. Or maybe the hallucinations had returned without him realizing it? What if Heather's grave had been stolen without him noticing? The air in Akrasia was dry and cool, ideal for keeping corpses alive. What if there were corpses around him, animated by hallucinations? Could he ever know? Would he want to? He wiped his emaciated countenance, catching himself. He felt not bitter rage at the article nor was he terrified of receiving the hatred of his villagers, but an immense sorrow washed over him, inexplicable and deep.

"Are you ok?"

He lowers the newspaper, seeing two children watching him cautiously. The town valued privacy over all else, but the young often gave way to curiosity, a feat that Senkath now thanked. He collected himself and smiled tentatively.

"Yes, of course, I'm-"

The child's eyes catch his and the world starts twirling uncontrollably, spinning in the viridian hues of the child's familiar olive-green iris. Senkath falls onto the floor, twirling and thrashing, frothing and fuming, shaking in an uncouth fit of writhing pain. He feels his mind expand as if unraveling, threatening to burst from his skull as he clutches his head in wailing agony. The screams as the children rush toward him seem muted, as if he is underwater. He sinks into the swirling pools of green, seeing the faint silhouette of two children holding hands as the pain, and his reality, scatter away before his vision.