The Laboratory

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This story is inspired by a poem called the Laboratory that was written about France before the Revolution when there was a lot of corrupt monarchs

Submitted: July 20, 2008

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Submitted: July 20, 2008

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The Laboratory
 
Her gaze wanders with eyes harsh like the devils, over the many poisons that lay before her. Drifting in and out of lapses of madness, when catching and tightening her grip on reality, she laughs gleefully as she imagines the power that would soon be in her possession. Her face hardens, staring into space. Oblivious to the rat scurrying past her feet, she remembers the events leading up to this desperate act of revenge. Her hands shake, her knuckles whiten and her jaw clenches tight. She remembers the time when she was the most popular of the kings’ women. How he loved to stroke her long brown hair and how he gazed into her once soft blue eyes. Now they are left cold and hard, showing no emotion or signs of life. Though her heart beats slow and her steady breathing gives the impression of a life being lived. Her heart is blackened by the soot from a fire created by hate. Old scars and new wounds caused by the lick of flames and a subconscious self-loathing. Her body aches and trembles from a tiresome life of torment she has managed to create for herself. Her loveless upbringing forcing her into a life of misery.
She watches the apothecary pound at the powder with the pestle. Watching the contents of the mortar slowly change into a fine powder, she imagines all the troublesome times in her life being grinded away and finally erased. All the bumps she has encountered along the long-winding road smoothed out. As her jealousy turns to rage, she imagines the slow painful death of her replacements. Her warlike stance portrays her deathly defiance.
Yet however tough she tries to act, her face breaks and the person within finally shows through. Having something she always longed for a sense of place, of, security, of, status – she found that it carried uneasiness with it like a dark sister. There were dark things closing in around her warm circle of light. Maybe it was the uneasy sense of loss. Not just the fear of losing her dignity, but of losing herself. What used to make her laugh from the bottom of her soul only makes her smile to superficially conform to those surrounding her.  
She knows how liable she is to fall into the expectations of those around her at the expense of her sincerity. At this point she falls back into a deep depression wishing things could have turned out differently. As she watches the green, red and blue substances slowly drip, she recalls each lie she has told, each person she has humiliated, and each she has hurt. She hears the rhythmic pattern of a grand father clock and it steadies her nerves. Yet again with each tick she torments herself, with a painstaking expression on her face, with her past mistakes. She realises on those few moments everything she could have done differently and how she can put things right. She lifts up the phial and makes her decision.


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