Phantasmagoria - Chapter 11
 

Author: Dave

The last thing the alchemist remembered was the cracked face of his patron god, Allahn telling him to SLEEP.  As his head and body unceremoniously crumpled to the hard snow packed ground and his world went black.

Perchance to sleep, perchance to dream; perchance the alchemist can scheme

Bubble, bubble—toil and trouble; making potions, charging double

All around ingredients—mixing unguents for these gents

Potions, salves within a vile; buy them now and live a while

Walking in comes neighbor Chells; Here to see what Thomas sells?

Shows to me some sort of tricks—agents he attempts to mix

“Chells don’t mix those two!”…

“You lying bastard! You tricked me!”

PAIN & BLOOD!  Again, darkness

While to the altar you make treks, I stay home, create detects

Red & yellow become orange—fill the liquid with a sy-ringe

Make the colors of the rainbow—stock supplies are running low

Filling shelves and writing labels—need to find some bigger tables

Stoppers topping—never stopping

Inventory—INVENTORY—Create—CREATE
That’s the part I really HATE

Counting coins and counting bottles
Around my brain the numbers throttle

Counting…Counting…counting…counting…counting…counting