The Magic Potion sat upon the table, stewing beneath its surface. What was is that making him so darned aggressive this day, when the reality was such anger was pointless? What was causing his inner anguishing and upset, why, let me tell you, my precious pets. Alice will show you yonder, Alice will show you how, Alice will map the way for you, for I know how. Let me weave the story line for you…
One day, in mid August, when the wind was gusting gaily, doing as it wished and pleased, a small potion was being concocted in Manstonian Lane, Apartment 1/303. The nimble fingers of the chemist danced as though possessed; adding this ingredient, then that, then this, then a touch of that. After much adjustment, the potion was now complete, a green, slimy offering, for someone who will soon no longer speak.
For, this potion snatched away any means of self expression, thieving the partaker into a slice of dumbfounded heaven, it stole away the ability to talk, and what’s more, it ruined the ability for their feelings to expressed in a manner of being written.
The truth of the matter is that this potion was extremely dangerous, it was only intended for one’s worst enemy, given the depth of punishment dolled to the user, it stole the moments in life where one could be free. Instead one was left mute, expressionless, nothing to share, not even through their eyes, living became pointless. The ability to feel and the ability to see became far less intense, there was no loving within them, nothing to view, nothing to be.
And because of the intensity of the chemist’s emotions during creation, the potion absorbed some of his personality and increased his degree of poison. He could now feel and hate like the chemist did, it aided their cause, it was plain to see that the target was in grave danger, most certainly, of course.
While this potion should never have been created, the chemist had one user in mind, Simon the Spook, who became bitter because Chemist failed to rock his socks. Simon then instead chose to indulge in a brought bottle of red and upon Chemist’s sofa and fresh new white carpets spill his bottle of magnificent merlot, his favourite red. It was his favourite because this particular wine never went to his head.
Simon acted as though the spillage were an accident, that during this first online date this was simply an incident, but the chemist knew spitefulness and rage when he saw it, and within Simon’s eyes he saw these bubbling.
All because Simon had leaned in for a premature kiss, and the chemist had backed away hesitantly, not ready for this. And bitter and twisted had become Simon, or so it seemed, that he wished hateful rage upon the chemist from him. In a moment of sheer audacity, in slow motion it seemed, the chemist saw the bottle become a-knocking, and falling, falling, slowly, drips and drops spilling everywhere, suddenly, moment of impact: blood-like red wine everywhere.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he proclaimed, hand facade-like held to an open mouth, “Let me get that for you, I’ll grab a cloth…” he trailed off.
“No, you most certainly won’t.” Chemist would deal with the mess himself, not with a cloth that would rub the stains in. Simon nodded in agreement with a slightly visible smirk, then growing into a grin. Chemist hated him for that.
With a sharp glance to his damaged, thousands of dollars worth of carpet and with the potion in hand, Chemist now waltzed to the doorway of his apartment, unknowingly not realising that this would be the last time his evil nature would be seen again, for in an accidental moment, when he visited Simon the Spook and served him potiony goodness, he mixed up the glass his with his own, wouldn’t you know it?
Luckily for him though, the potion did not take effect, in his creation of it he had missed adding the catalyst. His voice would remain, his happiness at self expression would be there to save him throughout rainy, miserable days, and now he learned forgiveness most haphazardly became he had been allowed to properly live.
He almost snapped out of a mood he hadn’t realised he was in, and understood plaintively and guiltily that he had cruelly, willingly, intended for Simon’s suffering. In the moments prior to this poisoning, he had experienced some apprehension, and thank goodness that internally he had the space for that. And when it came to remorse and regret he had much to contemplate of that.
He bid Simon farewell and erased his number from his phone, there was little point in pursuing anything of the like with him anymore. Each time he saw the faded red stains, he growled to himself but then calmed, he had to learn this again and again to become a habitual behaviour that utterly tamed, calmed his mindset, flooded serotonin and relaxants into the brain.
Simon has now found his own boyfriend, they met on an exclusive dating site, they share the love of the theatre, comedy shows, computing, and most especially chemistry on quiet, cold nights. Chemist has learned his lesson, on not being malicious with his physical potions and explosions and keeping in check his emotional conditions, and never more has he or will he misuse his knowledge anymore, no matter what the situation.
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
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