Sunday March 22nd, 2015

The exercise:

Write about: the suspension.

This afternoon I finally got my hands on that new (to me) camera that I mentioned a while back. I'm going to take some time to try it out and see how I like it, but I'm pretty sure I'll end up buying it. I'll try to share at least a few results of my test run with you guys.

I think I'll start with a visit to the apricot blossoms tomorrow morning, if the weather agrees. Without Max, this time.

He's hogged enough of the spotlight for now, thank you very much.

Mine:

The college's chemistry laboratory was quiet, it being a Saturday night in July. All of the usual suspects were off on summer vacation, and those students and teachers stuck doing school work during the hottest months of the year were out partying, or recovering from partying. Most of them, at least.

I was there, amongst the beakers and test tubes and mystery substances. And it was no party. I just wanted to check in on a few experiments I was conducting... off the record, so to speak.

Approaching the work station furthest from both the door and the windows, I took one final look around before taking the small silver key out of my pocket. Into the lock on the cabinet it went and a quick twist later I was in.

My breath grew rapid, despite my best efforts to remain calm, as I pulled away the cloth which covered the three glass beakers I had come to visit. The one on the left contained a clear red liquid, the middle a pale green liquid, and on the right...

"Perfect." The smile on my lips had a life of its own, springing to life without my permission or even awareness. I almost reached out to touch the beaker holding the blue liquid but I managed to control myself. Just in time, most likely.

For the liquid was no longer alone inside its prison. No, there were now three black balls of something suspended in the blue. As I crouched there watching, one of them clearly grew larger.

"Perfect," I breathed again. Then I returned the cloth, locked the cabinet, and hurried back to the hallway. Still empty, luckily for me. Without a backward glance I moved for the exit, for the outdoors, for my car, for the safety that only a few hundred miles of road could provide.