Silence. That's all it was, except for occasional squeaks of rats heard from beneath a stack of cardboard boxes in the corner. Darkness engulfed the whole of hallway except at the end, which was illuminated by a dim ruddy light, showering its anger to a set of closely, but neatly arranged glasswares on a pair of rusty racks. Those glasswares were not some ordinary crockery made for kitchen, instead it was a well organised assortment of beakers, test tubes, conical flasks, spiralled tubings above a series of spirit burners.

A distant chattering made those nasty little rats to shut up for at least once. An aged door whined open and a tall man with shiny bald head, now angry red under the ruddy light rushed inside. He refused to get rid of his shades even in the darkness. Behind him followed another figure appearing weak and vulnerable with its hunch back and distorted neck, yet there was something about it that made it look stronger...must be eyes, definitely eyes. A shade of jade speckled with amber. Silvery strings of hair hung lifelessly on either side of his wrinkly wise cheeks.

"I need men, Ziggy." The hunched man spoke in an indiscernible accent, pulling on 'n' for longer than it was needed. "I've told you before. I, have aged. My hands are unstable...unpredictable now."

"I don't care." The baldy shot back, opening his worn out duffle bag and swooping in a stack of tiny little parcels of pink powder. "Say that to Randy. Honestly, I don't even understand why you are whining like a bitch all of a sudden. I'd die to be you. C'mon man! Look at you, you are the Alchemist. You can turn water into wine, dust into drugs. You're a walking, talking money machine."

The hunched man chuckled, "I wish it was that simple. Nothing in nature comes for free, Ziggy."

"Yeah yeah. Keep that free advice to yourself. Randy needs two hundred of those pretty pinkies by tomorrow. Cook 'em up!"

The hunched man sighed. "I told you, I can't. When I was rescued out of Pristin's asylum..." His fingers started to fidget at first, then they seemed to crack each other's knuckles rather loudly.

Baldy gulped. He shouldn't have gone that far in the first place. He broke Randall's rules and now he was in trouble.

"...I was promised my family, freedom. Not another underground asylum with screeching little bastards of rats!" The hunchback's voice seemed to rise and rise along with his distorted back. Bones crackling, a lean shadow of him on the wall behind, grew until it was as straight as a stick. His eyes glowed fluorescent green against a carmine facade of a face.

"...Uh...I um. I should probably leave now Mr. Alberto. I'm sorry that I've angered you. But please don't take any erratic decision now. You know I am just twenty-four, right? I don't even have a wife. I mean...I have one. But..." Baldy left the duffle bag loose on to his feet. "Please don't kill me! Oh my god. Please..." He almost fell to his feet, shivering and sweating, shutting his eyes tight like a toddler scared of a monster in the closet.

Then there was silence, but no rats dared to screech now. By God if they had screeched they would've been burnt and seared to ashes.

Baldy peeked through his half shut eye and let out a breath of relief to notice that Mr. Alberto had shrunken to his initial size.

"Oh I'm sorry, Ziggy. I told you I'm quite unstable these days. Can you arrange for a rendezvous with Randall for me? Please?"

Baldy cleared his throat, a weird frown still plastered on his face. He picked up the fallen bag and pulled on his jacket.

"Yes..." For his exclamation, Baldy's voice was as if one of the rats had spoken up on his behalf magically. He cleared his throat again like there was an apple stuck in his throat. "Yes. That could be arranged. I'll let Randy know about your... instability."

"Sweet!" Mr. Alberto chirped, his lips widening into a gargoyle's smile.

"Right. Have a good night," with that said, Baldy was out of the cellar.

Mr. Alberto groaned as the little rascals squeaked again, like they were demanding for something.

"All right. I get it, it's past your dinner time. Can't you hold your horses for a little while?" Hunched Alberto took a piece of cardboard lying on the ground and dusted it off.

A mischief of rats swarmed from beneath the cartons, racks and every other corner toward him. He broke the cardboard into small pieces and threw them one-by-one at the swarming little feet.

Each piece of cardboard contorted into a chunk of cheese in the mid air and plopped on the floor, only to be relished by the rats.

Mr. Alberto turned a last remaining piece of cardboard into taco. He examined it proudly and shrugged. "Works fine for a dinner."

He took a good sniff along its length, taking in all the goodness of spices and meat. Then he took a mouthful bite. "Mmm!"

Alongside, his spare hand worked flawlessly to swirl a beaker full of water. The transparent liquid turned deep pink at the edges and fluorescent pink at the bottom.

The art of Alchemy was his perfection, but something was off.

The liquid was not supposed to glow like that, atleast it never did before. His eyes carefully followed the eddies slowly settling into the bottom. He waited until it was fully brewed. His recipe for today's pink powder was as same as always, half a mind of happiness, a quarter full of sadness, a pinch of curiosity and a chunk of anger with a small zest of love.

Nothing could go wrong. Mr. Alberto hoped the change in the pattern of colour was just a fluke.

He had to make two hundred of them pinkies overnight and it would suck the soul out of him. Because nothing came for free in nature.

He brushed his hands off of taco, poured the pink fluid into a conical flask placed on a burner and ignited the flame.

What followed from the flask and into a series of glass tubings was his fate shattered into tiny, little, pink packets of 'Delshaw drench'.

If you're still here, then that means I'm celebrating a benchmark of 2000 words. Thanks for being a part of this, I am grateful! 🎊🎉🎊