Mande has recently seed sowhat distracted.
Originally, he would take Little March for a walk every day after dinner, occasionally eting Sheriff William, the neighbor, on the way, and they would even plan weekend fishing trips together.
But as he delved deeper into conversations with Old Mark, Mande no longer liked going out; and upon returning ho, he would lock himself in the study, sotis even forgetting to feed March until it whimpered and scratched at the door, reminding him.
The bookshelf beca untidy, with books once compulsively organized by category now haphazardly piled on the floor and desk; the lily plant by the window had yellowing leaves, and dishes accumulated in the kitchen sink, faintly emitting a stench...
Even when prescribing dication for an elderly woman with a fever and cold recently, he made a mistake, only realizing it after a nurse reminded him.
For Mande himself, perhaps due to his intensive research into Mark’s dical records, similar symptoms appeared—occasionally hearing strange sounds or perceiving odd shadows at the edge of his vision, waking invariably at three in the morning.
Initially, Mande felt a bit worried, but after using the ntal health self-assessnt thod learned from his ntor, he found his mind to be incredibly healthy, and thus he stopped worrying, attributing it to overwork.
After all, all of this was worthwhile.
As Old Mark’s condition progressively worsened, Mande beca increasingly certain that he’d discovered a complex ntal illness without precedent in the dical field.
To this end, he even wrote a letter to his ntor at the distant Royal dical College, hoping for assistance, though he regretted sending it shortly after.
Today marked the ninety-fifth day since Old Mark arrived at the clinic.
This man who once thrived at the docks, battling the sea with his body, now appeared as though he’d erged from a mortuary.
It seed as if all the vitality had been drained from his body; muscles atrophied, and his skin was so pale it showed no hint of blood.
His expressionless eyes bulged from deep-set sockets, as if a re sneeze would expel them, and his hair gradually fell out, with a difficult-to-describe stale decay emanating from his entire being.
But bizarrely, while his body rapidly aged, Old Mark’s spirit grew increasingly active, showing a peculiar frenzy born of extre fatigue.
"Mr. Mande, what shall we talk about today?"
Old Mark sat extrely relaxed on the clinic’s soft leather sofa, lacking the restraint of his first visit, and smiled as he asked.
The pen tip lightly tapped on the already-filled dical record book. Mande paused montarily, then lifted his head to et those eerily lifeless eyes:
"You seem overly tired; today... let’s talk about sothing light."
"I recall you ntioning being swept off a fishing boat during a storm?"
"Oh..." Old Mark’s smile remained unchanged, but subtle shifts in facial muscles gave his smile an eerie devotion common among churchgoers, "Of course, Mr. Mande."
"The wind was strong that day, the clouds completely obscured the sun, and the waves were mountain-like."
"The net ropes got tangled under the keel of the boat; I wanted to cut them with a knife when a wave hit and swept off."
Saying this, Old Mark inexplicably paused, gazing into Mande’s focused eyes, before suddenly asking:
"Mr. Mande, do you know the feeling of falling into the sea?"
"First, it’s silent; those howling winds and raindrops hitting the deck’s noise are isolated by the surface."
"It’s as if sothing covers your ears, leaving only the hum of swirling water and your thumping heartbeat."
"I tried swimming upwards, but the water currents were too strong, pulling deeper until I watched the boat’s faint glow grow distant."
"It’s dark underwater, darker than any night you’ve seen, without stars or moon, without light; I can’t even describe the bottomless feeling, like you could fall straight through to the other side of the world."
"Isn’t falling into the sea during a storm dangerous?" Mande asked, puzzled, upon noticing how Old Mark’s skin seed pale as if soaked too long, "How did you get back up?"
"Mr. Mande, I don’t know."
Old Mark slowly shook his head, his weary yet excited eyes slightly unfocused, as if recalling sothing, while the corners of his mouth subtly widened.
"It was like soone far away blew a conch; underwater, I heard a muffled, constant strange sound, causing my bones to tremble."
"Following the direction of the sound, I turned toward the ocean floor and looked down..."
"Oh, please understand, I’m not well-educated and can’t quite describe things."
"There was a mass, uh, or rather a patch larger than darkness itself."
"I don’t know what it is, but it was there, slowly undulating; it was so vast that I couldn’t see its edges, yet the outline was vaguely discernible, seemingly covering the entire seabed."
"It knew I was watching it because it was also watching ."
"Then... I don’t rember."
"When I woke up, I was already back on the fishing boat’s deck."
Reviews
All reviews (0)