It had been a chilly Sunday afternoon when Nick's left arm got pricked by something pointed inside the cinema at the mall. Startled, Nick had jumped and almost upended his popcorn bucket. We flashed a light on the area and saw nothing. To be safe, Jonathan swished his jacket all over the chairs and Bob huffed against the armrests. The four of us settled in happily as the advertisements plummeted the screen, Nick's ant-bite completely forgotten.
We only had three subjects on Monday, so most of that day had been spent playing cards, listening to Coldplay, and menacing girls.
By Tuesday, Nick sent me a text message asking me to inform Miss Tiffany that he couldn't come that day so he'll just send his assignment via E-mail. Upon asking why he couldn't go, Nick had told me he suddenly had a flu. He was burning, he had said, his voice shaky. I told him to get well and drink more water. Water can cure anything.
Nick attended the first subject on the morning of Wednesday, but had to exit at the middle of the discussion. He was vomiting his breakfast by the time we had arrived on the clinic. The nurse kept tab on him for a while, and informed him he was only dehydrated. His sister fetched him and took him home.
We had a group project to pass on Friday, so I had to get some stuff on Nick's house. I called him that Thursday and asked if I could come over. At first, I failed to understand the muffling on the end of the line. Using context clues, however, I eventually recognized Nick's wordings. Since I couldn't understand a word he was saying, I simply told him I'd be swinging over and just get the stuff I needed.
The smell was wafting even from their gate. It had stank of soiled underwear and moldy vomit. Before I managed to debate myself into turning around, the gate opened and Nick's sister appeared, offering me a face mask. She had one herself. Her name was Theresa, and she used to be really grand. That Thursday, she had looked like she had aged by decades in a night.
I only wanted to get our stuff for the project, but somehow I managed to come face to face with Nick—or what remained of him. His left arm was bulbous and had gone yellowish. His right arm, on the contrary, thinned like a useless twig. He had laid on his back against their wall, his mouth hanging open revealing gums turning black. The rest of his body had seemed to be pulsing. Colored liquid pooled below him—hinting me that my friend had soiled himself over the time. When he opened one of his eyes and saw me, he raised his twig arm in a call for help. I spun around, hearing him cry in agony at the feeble action.
The odd thing was when I turned back, I saw Theresa covering her mouth as well. Apparently, Nick hadn't looked that way when she had gone out to open the gate.
Both of us ran out of their home.
When we were at a modest distance away, Theresa had called for an ambulance. She explained the state we found her brother in.
By Friday, I received news from Theresa that Nick died. The doctors had been as puzzled as we were.
"There are viruses that work as fast as this," she had offered. "They said his condition was like some sort of HIV-AIDS. The elapse was quicker though because the transfusion of the element was through blood. Apart from that I understood nothing from what they told me."
I didn't know what to say. I swear I didn't see a guy wearing a sleek leather jacket place a needle on the armrest as we came inside the cinema last Sunday.
