Besides that, and the bed, no other furniture existed in his private chamber. He liked the room. It was simple and it ignited a fiery weightless feeling in his chest. Just the idea of decorating everything and making it “his” somehow felt right. Maybe I can start doing that now? There must be something here I can work with, right? His turquoise eyes were fixated on the dresser. It was just sitting there. Surely there had to be something in it. He got up and quickly fell onto the satin patchwork mattress. He huffed and looked to his sides, whilst his forehead wrinkled like an accordion; he had no arms. Well, that was annoying, was he missing anything else? He flopped his ears. Each smack from his twin teardrops stung his eyes.
Homunculus
He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what day or time it was, but he knew a few things for sure. It was tepid.
Not cold yet not warm enough to be notable either way. The bedroom was dark. As dark as an undisturbed bed of coals at the very depths of a pitch-black mineshaft and yet he could see all the same. The chestnut brown hardwood floor was shiny with wax in his green-tinted vision the pungent aroma of its sweet plum custard aroma so strong that it made him feel just a little lightheaded. The walls, made of pine and patched with silvery sheets of steel, were bare; lacking in any shelves, framed photos, or childish scribbles that could make the place feel lived in.
On the furthermost left side of the wall, a hinged door was screwed in its exterior painted a juicy holly berry red; on the furthermost right side of the wall, another hinged door was screwed in identical in everything but color to its predecessor as this one was painted a tart juniper berry blue. Between them, both a chestnut brown gentleman’s chest dresser stood; it was just as shiny as the floor and made of the same piney materials that built the structure of the bedroom. But this article was furniture custom made with ruby and sapphire encrusted handles on each of its six drawers and a decant amethyst and silver-bordered mirror delicately screwed into the cabinet.
Besides that, and the bed, no other furniture existed in his private chamber.
He liked the room. It was simple and it ignited a fiery weightless feeling in his chest. Just the idea of decorating everything and making it “his” somehow felt right. Maybe I can start doing that now? There must be something here I can work with, right? His turquoise eyes were fixated on the dresser. It was just sitting there. Surely there had to be something in it. He got up and quickly fell onto the satin patchwork mattress. He huffed and looked to his sides, whilst his forehead wrinkled like an accordion; he had no arms.
Well, that was annoying, was he missing anything else? He flopped his ears. Each smack from his twin teardrops stung his eyes.
He wagged his tail. The crescent-shaped appearance whipped around so fast he could hear the air moving in its path. He kicked his legs. Prickly barbed ankles sharply jabbed themselves into his back drawing blue droplets of blood in the process. He smirked, his legs were strong, and this would come in handy. I wonder what else these things can do. It took a couple of tries to get himself onto four feet. Turns out the frictionless bed was not a good standing surface. But he wouldn’t let that stop him even if it risked ruffling his orange, white, and black calico fur.
He stood on his awkwardly planted legs, shutting his eyes and holding his breath as his shaking stilts struggled for a moment to keep him upright. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall. They held. He looked down giggling at his success. His legs were stable, spread way too far as if he were trying to mimic the appearance of a saddle bar stool sure, but they were stable all the same. One foot after the other he fixed his stance until all his fuzzy thin stilts were nearly touching. I did it! The clipped toes on his salmon-pink prehensile feet curled and dug themselves into the thin plum-purple sheets as if to confirm his statement. I did it!
He looked back at the dresser: his travel destination. All it would take is a few steps. He began his march puffing out his cowlicked chest. It took much longer than he thought to get to the dresser. Even after getting his footing the plush surface of the bed made each step a wobbly sluggish chore swallowing his alarmingly long appendages into the cushioned ground like some sort of domesticated quicksand. But, through a series of small grunts and pants and stumbles, he made it to the edge of the bed.
Yes! He thought. Jumping off the bed and running for his prize at full speed. Which, turns out, was quite fast now that he wasn’t burdened by anything. The digits of his prehensile-footed feet tapped against the floor as they rocketed him closer and closer to the dresser. The subtle rough scraps and scratches of nails on wood barely registered in his mind as the scent of sawdust and oak filled his nostrils. He stopped at the furniture.
His chest had a strange burning pain inside. It was like a hot poker was constantly prodding at his lungs. Dark sticky oily fluids leaked from his eyes and dribbled from his flushed lips, staining them with a reddish shade of rich chocolate brown. Every other minute or so he would cough and spray the slick rancid substance onto the floor in front of him. He gagged, it smelled and tasted like tuna salad marinated in a rotting carcass. But still, the unpleasant sensation was worth it. He had gotten to the wardrobe and that is what mattered.
He cast his eyes up, his body shaking in anticipation of finally getting to uncover the troves of treasures that could be within the dresser. Cleaning rags, a feather duster, and maybe even some cozy knickknacks to spruce up the place. He flung open the mirrored cabinet. “Finally!” A hushed voice called out, and a very identifiable foot reached out for him, he backed away, his chest tightening and his eyes fluttering opening and closing in utter disbelief.
“Simon! Behave yourself!” Another voice hollered, scolding the previous him that tried to grab him well. “I’m sorry about him, he can be quite rude. The name is Shaman.”
The two doppelgangers stepped out of the cabinet; they looked exactly like him in all but dress. Turquoise eyes, furless pink snouts, twin teardrops ears, long slinky necks attaching heads to their fluffy calico-furred bodies, wagging crescent-shaped tails, sharp horn-like implements growing from prickly barbed ankles, skinny stilt-like legs each topped off with pink prehensile feet that were bawled up into little fists. “Is he gonna just stand there gawking at us?” The one on his left wore nothing but a ripped tie-dyed denim vest and a black rhinestone choker.
“Oh no, I’m sorry, let me correct you. He is standing there gawking at your ugly mug. And, yes, I think he will continue to do so for quite some time,” The one on his right wore a coffee-brown hoodie that looked more like a cloak on his tiny body. For a beat, Shaman and Simon glared at each other before focusing their shared attention back in his general direction. “Sorry, we really shouldn’t fight in front of you, come with us Sebastian we have much to discuss before the professor comes back.”
“Sebastian? Is that seriously what we’re naming him? I thought we were gonna give him something cool like Phoenix or Titan!” Simon complained and, as the strange air that came with his befuddling situation faded, Sebastian giggled.
“Aw, no need to get your tail in a twist, I can take Phoenix as my middle name, can’t I?”
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