Writer's Block: Tea for two
Sometimes, when I come down with a bit of the strange cases, I open my doctor's bag and feel better. I like to caress its sparkly contents and take roll: one innocuous grinder, one bubbler, one surgical scalpel, half-a-dozen lighters, one package of strawberry bubblegum, one smiley-faced yo-yo and a bit of the dank stuff. I close my magic bag with a snap, and leave my studio apartment on London's lower end.
I hide my face behind the high collar of my trench coat whenever I cross the path of a Bobby on patrol for those....sinister types...
I begin to feel a bit more like myself as I leave the knowing glow of the city's lamp posts and scratch my way through the city's dark and dirty corridors towards his laboratory.
My mind wanders as I make my way slowly through London's forgotten places where its inhabitants and their darker dealings are invisible to the rest of society. Tonight the streets are empty of even the lowest humans. A bigger monster has come to claim these places for his own. No one wants to have the misfortune of catching his eye. Even the rats seem to be laying low in their dens. Indeed, the only evidence of life to be found are the muffled sounds of suffering and debauchery coming from the brothels.
I clutch my bag tightly. Even I have the good sense to be wary tonight. I don't relax my grip until I see the laboratory's doorway outlined by the neon glow from within. I walk down the stairs. The doorknob vibrates in my hand as I turn it, and I know right away that he's playing a bit of the filthy dubstep.
I enter to see my dear friend moon-walking in his sinister lab coat. Without looking up, he waves me in and calls out, "Come in, sweetheart, I'm ready to play."
His laboratory holds a unique charm. It's so unique that there is only one other experience I can recall that compares: Edinburgh's dungeon. Of course, the laboratory doesn't have fetters attached to the walls, or grooves etched by the desperate raking of human finger nails. Those things are too crude for my dear friend. We believe in Science, you know. Nevertheless the corners seem to shrink away from his table of wonders the same way they did from the rack in Edinburgh's torture chamber. It was as though this country's natural stone rejected the dungeon's violence and his...strangeness.
I stop my musings to examine his new set-up. The glass beakers, graduated cylinders and tubing rise and fall like the final movement in Beethoven's ninth. Hyde stands behind me and whispers, "Isn't it beautiful?" He doesn't wait for my response. He already knows I want to put on my goggles and get down to some sinister chemistry. He must notice the desire in my face because he stops my hands from reaching for my rubber gloves.
"No no no," he chides, "first things first, my pet."
I sigh and turn towards a small end table to unpack my magic bag. During a lull in the music, I hear scratching coming from a small door under the stairs. Hyde notices the object of my gaze and says, "Don't mind Gabriel. He's been naughty." I shrug and return to the sinister business of grinding the Lamb's Bread into keefe.
I hide my face behind the high collar of my trench coat whenever I cross the path of a Bobby on patrol for those....sinister types...
I begin to feel a bit more like myself as I leave the knowing glow of the city's lamp posts and scratch my way through the city's dark and dirty corridors towards his laboratory.
My mind wanders as I make my way slowly through London's forgotten places where its inhabitants and their darker dealings are invisible to the rest of society. Tonight the streets are empty of even the lowest humans. A bigger monster has come to claim these places for his own. No one wants to have the misfortune of catching his eye. Even the rats seem to be laying low in their dens. Indeed, the only evidence of life to be found are the muffled sounds of suffering and debauchery coming from the brothels.
I clutch my bag tightly. Even I have the good sense to be wary tonight. I don't relax my grip until I see the laboratory's doorway outlined by the neon glow from within. I walk down the stairs. The doorknob vibrates in my hand as I turn it, and I know right away that he's playing a bit of the filthy dubstep.
I enter to see my dear friend moon-walking in his sinister lab coat. Without looking up, he waves me in and calls out, "Come in, sweetheart, I'm ready to play."
His laboratory holds a unique charm. It's so unique that there is only one other experience I can recall that compares: Edinburgh's dungeon. Of course, the laboratory doesn't have fetters attached to the walls, or grooves etched by the desperate raking of human finger nails. Those things are too crude for my dear friend. We believe in Science, you know. Nevertheless the corners seem to shrink away from his table of wonders the same way they did from the rack in Edinburgh's torture chamber. It was as though this country's natural stone rejected the dungeon's violence and his...strangeness.
I stop my musings to examine his new set-up. The glass beakers, graduated cylinders and tubing rise and fall like the final movement in Beethoven's ninth. Hyde stands behind me and whispers, "Isn't it beautiful?" He doesn't wait for my response. He already knows I want to put on my goggles and get down to some sinister chemistry. He must notice the desire in my face because he stops my hands from reaching for my rubber gloves.
"No no no," he chides, "first things first, my pet."
I sigh and turn towards a small end table to unpack my magic bag. During a lull in the music, I hear scratching coming from a small door under the stairs. Hyde notices the object of my gaze and says, "Don't mind Gabriel. He's been naughty." I shrug and return to the sinister business of grinding the Lamb's Bread into keefe.