Fermented

“34…35…36…37…And now off the fire. Quickly.”

He had way a of talking through me that reminded me my place here was mechanical. Another instrument alongside the metal clamps and glass tubes.

“Do you even comprehend what I am doing here?”

I am aware enough by this point to understand the question was a prompt for himself and not for me.

“When the wind drops a neglected apple, and it lays on the ground. The maggot inside isn’t yet aware that its entire world is about to alter.”

His gestures made clear that for him the shelves and specimens had transformed into distinguished figures of power.

“The conditions mean that the very nature of the apple is shifting, and soon the maggot will find itself with a feast. The rot feeding new life.”

I could feel the metaphor escaping him, he could try and wrestle it back but it was long untethered.

My arm knows the rhythm. I watch as the metal stirrer in my hand cuts through the continuously forming skin of the mixture. The earthy colour and sharp stench so familiar as to almost be a comfort.

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