Apothecarium

Do you ever wonder what life would be like if it was possible to put our feelings into bottles? To distil emotion. To be able to carry them outside of ourselves and experience them as intensely as we choose. What would that be like?

Imagine that, instead of writing a love letter, you could simply spill a drop or two of your love on to the paper. That, on opening that envelope, the recipient would experience all the colour and warmth and musical cadences of your feelings that words could never put across. Imagine that.

But imagine too, what someone with a pitcher full of hatred and anger could do. Imagine dousing someone in emotions so strong and so bitterly dark that they make you feel physically sick. Drowning someone in fury, making them choke on the fumes of greed and jealousy. Imagine the harm it could do.

The innocent happiness of children, the frustrations and fears of parents. The ignorant hatred and misguided anger of those who intentionally harm others. The quiet joy of creating something truly unique, and the fierce blazes of triumph when goals are met and limits surpassed. So many colours and scents and textures arrayed in bottles and jars.

Do you understand the opportunities?

Do you understand the risks?

Will you step forward and take a look at my wares?

I see you already have your eye on one.

Yes, I think some curiosity is just right for you...

Choke

How did this happen?

You already know the answer to that. A message you were never meant to receive. A call that never connected. You can see all of the pieces, and try as you might, you can’t stop them from fitting together.

And it hurts. It hurts like hell.

Even if you can tell yourself that it shouldn’t have happened the way it did, it doesn’t change the fact that it did happen. Maybe that’s what hurts the most. That no matter if the mistake was made or not, the outcome would still be the same. Someone you cared about would still be dead and there would never be a single damn thing you could have done about it.

But he did send the message to you, and you got it too late, and when you tried to call, there was no one left to answer.

When you found out what happened, it was impossible to process. You didn’t see it happen. The call never went through; it would be so easy to pretend it wasn’t real. But the message was still there, sitting in your phone inbox. ‘Help me, come get me.’ But it said ‘Dad.’ It was sent to the wrong number, it wasn’t meant to be for you. It wasn’t meant to be your responsibility, but now it is and you failed. You have to accept that it is real, and there will always be the thought that maybe there was something you could have done that you didn't and you will have to live with that every. Single. Day.

And all of this for the one person you just wanted to leave you alone.

Well, you got what you wanted, didn’t you?

And now you can choke on it.