The Alchemist

"It looks like water."

"And so it is!" Luchyenko took the simmering beaker off the tiny flame with the tongs and poured it gently into a bowl made of silvery metal. He swirled it, keeping the steaming surface well away from his face.

"Is the medicine ready yet?" Tribby rubbed a foot against his calf.

"No, not yet. Drinking it now would kill you in an amazingly horrible way." Luchyenko wafted some steam toward his nose, nodded, and upended the bowl into a dark wooden cup. "There! Now it's medicine."

"It still looks like water. What's different?"

Luchyenko smiled. "Context."

Alchemical

Double-post today, to make up for yesterday's Travel Holiday.

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“Eureka!” he cried, trailing papers behind him.  He held a scorched alembic in one hand.  His beard still smoked, his hair a matted birds-nest atop his head.  He grasped my arm, his palms sweaty.  “Listen!  The secret!  I’ve found the secret!  You don’t have to turn anything into gold.  It’s already gold!  All of it!  It’s all made of gold!”

I shook him off, hurried away.  He shrieked away, down the street.

My skin itched where his dirty hands had touched.  I scratched at the spot, felt it peel away in thin strips, saw the metallic sheen glinting from beneath…