The Amateur Chemist (standard:other, 1211 words)
Author: James C. Bernthal	Added: Nov 03 2004	Views/Reads: 3218/2068	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
John, an amateur chemist, encounters a strange man and they build a rocket.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Does that matter...?” 

“Well, how are you going to fit into it?” 

John looked in slight astonishment at the man called Colleen.  “Oh, I
think you've made a mistake.  I don't intend to ride in it, Colleen...” 


The man suddenly snapped:  “Why did you call me that?  How dare you? 
Get out of my house!  Now!” 

John fidgeted uncomfortably.  “Remember that this is my garden.  I'm
just sending the rocket up.  That's all.” 

“But how are you going to get the cheese from the moon?  How are you
going to bring it to me?” 

“What...” John stole a glance into the old string bag that his companion
had dropped.  There were two things he could make out in it: a piece of 
paper headed SYLVESTER McCOY'S HOME FOR THE MENTALLY UNSTABLE and a 
blue-nosed automatic revolver.  The man was a lunatic! 

He would have to be very careful.  The madman was loaded. 

“Where did you say you were from?” he hazarded. 

“Switzerland.”  The man lit a cigar then immediately extinguished it on
the ground.  “I never could stand the taste of smoke,” he grumbled. 

“What establishment?” 

“Buckingham Palace.  Now, let me help you build a new rocket.  You'll
need a better one than that if you're going all the way to the moon.  I 
am, after all, very partial to cheese.  The corner shop doesn't have 
any.  Hurry up!  I'm getting a craving for a cheese and pickle 
sandwich.  And when I have cravings I can be unpleasant.” 

The amateur chemist really didn't know what to do.  His initial idea was
to try to silently convey the danger to any nearby locals.  That 
wouldn't work, as there were no locals about.  John didn't dare risk 
making his way to the telephone. 

“Now,” the lunatic began again.  “How many doors are in your house?” 

“I don't know.” 

“More than six?” 

“Certainly.  Why...?” 

The man interrupted him.  “Don't answer back.  You can help me get all
the doors out of their frames. 

John's face whitened.  “I-I'll just get m-my sc-sc-screwdriver...” he
was nervous. 

The madman's face formed a grimace.  “That won't be necessary.”  He
produced an axe from the carrier bag.  John followed nervously behind 
as he hacked each door in turn from it's allotted place. 

When that was done, the doors were all propped up against eachother in
the garden, standing erect. 

“I need some sticky tape,” said the man meditatively.  “Where is it?” 

“In the kitchen, next to the 'phone.  I'll get it...” John started to
move.  He was stopped by the firm hand of his companion. 

“No.  I'll get it.”  The madman went into to the house and emerged later
with a reel of tape.  He started winding the tape around the doors.  
“That ought to hold it,” he said when the reel had been exhausted.  Now 
we need the fuel.” 

The fuel John had created filled no more than a coffee-jar. 

“No!  We need more than that!  Much more!  I saw a tank of petrol next
to a car down the road.  That should be ample.  I'll go and get it.”  
John didn't like the sound of this.  “You can come with me.”  That 
sounded even worse. 

The petrol was retrieved and poured over the wood.  “We need a fuse... 
Give me your shoelace.”  The strange man tied John's shoelace to one of 
the door-handles.  He looked at his creation contentedly and rubbed his 
hands in glee.  “There!  Get in!  I'll set you off.” 

“No!”  John started to run.  He did not get much past the gate, however,
for the madman was incredibly strong and hauled him back.  He pushed 
John into the pile of wood, through a hole and threw in a carrier bag 
so that John could bring back some cheese.  “Got a match?” 

John desperately racked his brains.  There had to be a way out... 

Wait!  That was it!  And it would only take a few seconds...  But John
didn't have a few seconds.  The man lit the fuse. 

The fire was very pretty.  The smell wasn't that nice. 

THE END


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