Creating Gold

one

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Luther's Elixir
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The man was tall, like a small tree. He stood with the hunched shoulders of a tinker, but had the large calloused hands of a bricklayer or a mechanic. He sat in a little wooden chair that barely held his waist as he wheeled himself from desk to desk; his white protective coat spilling over the stool. He absently bounced his knee to the loud rock anthem that blared from the stereo in the corner of the room, his yellow converse trainers curved with the motion.

The man crawled around the room in his chair like a crab dancing on hot sand. Grabbing flasks, beakers, and bottles as he passed between the chemical stained desks that carried hundreds of pieces of equipment, and books, and small jars that had been left and forgotten. Some flasks still bubbled or popped as the man listened and scribbled down some notes in his leather notebook. One vial in particular began to squeal as the purple liquid inside punished the air like hot lava, black smoke spilling from the glass.

"Oh shoot-" The man exclaimed as he jumped to the modest walnut painted door in the middle of the longest wall of the lab. He grabbed the visor, large smithing tongs, and a pair of brown soot-stained gloves before pulling the fire alarm directly above.

Wailing filled the air as the large man edged toward the beaker on the edge of the desk, "easy buddy, this is gonna be a lot harder for me than it is for you." He said through the thick metal of his protector. As he got closer, the angry purple liquid rippled unnaturally, as though the desk underneath was rhythmically vibrating to the music. The man quickly grabbed the beaker and quickly started towards the hazardous waste bin that sat directly adjacent to the non hazardous waste bin.

As he dropped in the beaker, the muffled cry of the liquid sputtered before ending in a satisfying sizzle, just like cooking bacon.

The man later explains that because the purple liquid eats solely organic matter, it shouldn't corrode any of the plastic lining in the bin, but to be safe, he picks up the bin with his forceps and slowly leaves the laboratory with it in his clutches.

He takes the bin through the long medical grade hallway, passing the physics department as he makes his way to the closest staircase. Squeezing straight through a forgotten cart of dirty forceps and tweezers, he finally makes it to the hazardous waste dump outside where he carefully places the bin on the hot tarmac.

Phew, that could have been a disaster, the man thought as he turned to face his colleagues who all stood facing him, unimpressed.

"Dantalion Elixir again, Luther?" A lovely looking man in his early thirties asked boredly.

"Sorry guys" Luther replied, scratching his nape like a caught puppy. "It wont happen again" he chuckled nervously, knowing with his whole chest that it would, in fact, happen again.

It was like whatever he touched became Dantalion. It felt like he would never escape hell.

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