Write four lines of prose about: the alchemist.
Max usually spends Wednesday and Friday afternoons with Kat's parents. He loves it up there and never wants to come home. Usually when I open the front door to welcome him home and to thank Kat's dad for bringing him back, Max refuses to come inside and tries to walk away.
Not today though. He actually came home an hour early. Because he missed us? Hah.
Kat had told him after lunch that she was going to be making (gluten and dairy-free) chocolate chip cookies while he was out. Apparently he decided around 4 o'clock that the cookies were probably done, so he needed to come home to eat one.
His arrival kind of screwed over my late afternoon plans but it was funny enough that I didn't really mind.
I never liked going into my father's laboratory. It's not that it was dark or scary or even unclean. The smell that always lingered in there, permanently attached to all the equipment and benches and the walls... I just couldn't stand it.
It would be many years after his death before I finally realized that what had bothered me was the stench of failure.