The new drugstore was finally open. Chad had been furtively observing it ever since the “For Rent” signs were taken down. He often stood on the pavement just in front, observing in silence the renovation progress during the many walks he undertook daily—his town being a small one and his workplace not distant—for it wasn’t white and clean and pure, as most pharmacies and clinics are, deceiving you from first glance at its walls with perceptions of health, hygiene and sterility. This drugstore had its façade painted black from the very beginning. In contrast to the white signs most stores adopted, complete with caduceus, cross, and Rod of Asclepius, there was in place a colossal black billboard, bare but for the word DRUGSTORE in white, the painting of which Chad had witnessed just days ago. He liked it.

Chad was the proud owner of a relatively healthy immune system. He was unburdened by complications despite constant worries about diabetes, which ran in the family, and the future development of Alzheimer’s. He had a strong constitution and no obvious reason to browse the aisles of a pharmacy, but Chad did suffer from a problem that even the most resilient men are vulnerable to: the notorious Unhappy Marriage.

Surveying the drugstore’s construction had its benefits. By further lengthening the duration of his everyday walks, he spent as little time at home and as much time away from it as possible. The implementation of this strategy led initially to scoldings of greatly increased intensity upon returning home, but the ferocity of his spouse’s attacks gradually subsided, and the rebukes eventually waned in vehemence to the point they became mere formalities. Chad did observe that at some point, his wife seemed to lose interest in reprimanding him for this at all, a change he was amused by but never bothered to think about.

He shoved the drugstore’s hardwood café doors open and strolled in. It was air-conditioned, but the atmosphere was more that of a record shop than of a pharmacy. In place of posters of rock gods and metal bands were framed certificates verifying a certain so-and-so’s immense contribution to modern medicine. Chad could barely make out the print, and didn’t pay much attention to the documents. Instead of records, rows and rows of glass bottles stood on the shelves hanging from the walls. Behind the cashier was a huge wooden sign that read THE WITCH DOCTOR’S. It sounded like the name of a band.

Chad smiled briefly at the cashier, who was a young teenager, casually-dressed, and took a look at the many products the pharmacy had to offer, all of them glass bottles with odd names on the labels. He smiled again at the sales attendant nearby, another youth. They were the only people in the otherwise deserted shop. The bottles seemed, by their labels, to contain “Love,” “Peace,” “Confidence,” and “Self-Esteem,” among other virtues.

“Excuse me,” Chad asked the salesman, “what exactly are in these bottles?”

“Liquid solutions of exactly what the stickers say,” he replied with certain pride.

Chad put a hand to his pocket. His wallet was in its place. He never shied from trying new things. “What do they do?”

“They give you, or whoever consumes it, exactly what the stickers say.”

Chad thought of his wife. She could use some Love. A dash of Hope and a pinch of Kindness wouldn’t hurt. With these concoctions, nothing was impossible. There would no longer be any boundaries to their relationship, only a Love for each other. No more arguments, just Love, Love, and Love. But, of course, Chad wasn’t convinced.

“That doesn’t make sense. Have you any testers?”

The salesman nodded without hesitation, as if it was a request he was often asked, and gestured to the cashier, who began pouring water into a polystyrene cup. The cashier reached under his counter and retrieved a tiny glass display case of even tinier bottles. Chad strolled towards him and examined them.

“Which?” The cashier motioned for Chad to choose.

“Peace,” Chad replied. That was just what he needed. Peace and calm.

The cashier looked bewildered and glared at the bottle of Peace before pulling it out of the case and putting the bottle aside. “I’m sorry, Peace wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“Why?” Chad asked, suddenly more suspicious. “Does it not give Peace?”

“The Witch Doctor could not find a solution for Peace, only this. Yes, Peace is what it offers, but he says the only Peace one can obtain is once in a lifetime. It is permanent, and whether you wish for Peace or not is an immense decision only you can make. One drop is all it takes, which is why you may not test it. You must understand.”

Chad noted how the cashier referred to the Witch Doctor with reverence. He had no time to inquire regarding his identity, or the cashier’s befuddling explanation. He had to be home by five in the afternoon to prepare for an event at six, and it was already half-past-four.

“Okay. Confidence it is.” That was something he sorely lacked, among other things.

The cashier plucked Confidence from the box and unscrewed the bottle cap, which doubled as a dropper. He released a drop of liquid Confidence into the cup of water, and the drink was immediately tinted yellow.

Chad gave the cup a cautionary sniff, but noticed no deviation in scent from ordinary water before pouring it into his mouth. The effect it had on him was instant. He felt rejuvenated and renewed, like he could wrestle bulls, fight lions, and run for president. Within minutes, he was out the door with a plastic bag of twelve glass bottles, and an empty wallet.

In one of those twelve bottles was Peace. He had an inkling, by now, as to what the cashier had meant, but the temptation was too great to resist. Permanent peace, painless and pure, was now within his grasp.

The Confidence wore off as soon as he reached home. He knew he had to take another dose of the liquid before his appointment. It was miraculous. He dropped the bag of bottles on an island counter in the kitchen, and went upstairs to change, immediately regretting not consuming more Confidence upon his first step into the bedroom, for his wife was in bed with another man.

“What?” was all that he could muster. “What?”

The man leaned back in silence, like a deer caught in headlights. Chad’s wife glanced at a wall clock. “But… But it’s only five!”

If her speechlessness masked any guilt or remorse, Chad failed to detect it. Normally, he would exploit any, any crack in her otherwise stone-cold heart, however selfish it was to do so, but this was a crossing of boundaries on her part which Chad couldn’t and didn’t want to deal with. Perhaps he needed Confidence. Chad instantly knew what he needed. Why take the trouble when there’s an easy way out?

Without so much as a change in heartbeat, Chad turned and went downstairs, having already decided on a course of action. He trawled through the plastic bag of bottles until his fingers found Peace. He heard shouting from upstairs.

And in a single motion, with considerable grace, as a final act of stubborn rebellion against reality, he pulled off the cap and emptied the bottle’s contents. He could feel the Peace consuming him. Somewhere outside, a bird began to sing.

Afterword

October 16, 2021

I first wrote this for a high school year-end exam in 2016, and have since made several edits at various points. Being one of my earliest pieces, and having written it under a time constraint, it’s rather lacking in the classic Daniel overthought details.

The story was inspired by, of all things, some football commentary. I remember hearing something along the lines of, “They play with such confidence, I wish you could bottle it and drink it.” Naturally, being the edgy high schooler I was, that evolved into the idea of drinking attitudes/traits, and then, Peace.

I’ve considered changing the effect of Peace, now that there’s no time limit to warrant such a cop-out, but really, at the risk of sounding 15 again, is there any other way to obtain true peace, in its purest form? The pain of life—not even physically but mentally and emotionally, most often manifesting itself in little annoyances such as late buses and overwhelming crowds and soggy pizza—is intrinsic to the human experience, simply inescapable (though of course, that doesn’t mean a bottle of Peace is a good solution to these pains). If you have another opinion on this, feel free to let me know!

If there’s anything to take away from this, I suppose it’s that inspiration can come from the unlikeliest of places.