Uncongenial
Written 56-D19 [2024-10-31], Edited 56-D19 [2024-10-31]
Image credit: Twitter Twemoji
I was about to knock on the door of the laboratory, but it opened right as I clenched my fist.
“Quite late, Anaximander,” said Master Democritus the Alchemist. He tensed his perpetually furrowed brow and twisted his dry, chapped lips with disdain.
“Apologies, my master,” I replied.
“Do you know how many conical flasks are sitting unwashed in the sink?” asked the master.
“I haven’t a clue,” I replied.
“Twenty! Because I had no-one here to rinse them!”
I spent my morning cleaning the master’s glassware, while the master spent his morning dipping a coil of copper wiere into a pot of mercury.
“Surely this time, I shall find the Philosopher’s Stone,” said the master, unaware that by definition, the Philosopher’s Stone could never be his.
Notes
This was written in 15 minutes during a Joy of Writing meetup.
Comments
What do you think?
The comment form accepts Markdown, with some limitations.
Your email, if provided, will not be shared with other readers.
After you press “Submit” a cookie is stored on your browser which identifies you to the comment system, and expires in 15 minutes. You can only edit or delete your comment while this cookie is active.
For more information, see this.