Image credit: Twitter Twemoji 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.
This was written in 15 minutes during a Joy of Writing meetup.