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A long time ago in a land far far away there lived a fetish collector who stared at people through their windows trying to get a glimpse of at least one fetish with which the good people were willing to part. He had hopped through snowy streets and jogged many desert miles in his search and now had ended up in front of my window, his breath fogging up the glass. "How do you do?" I had asked him, his red cheeks and his slightly crooked nose. The fetish collector seemed glad at my response and had asked me if he could come in from the cold, to which I had answered "But, ofcourse."
He came into my house wearing nothing but a rag and a large cotton bag over his shoulder. He looked like a young semi-nude Santa Claus from some deranged lunatic's sexual fantasy but he radiated such great friendliness that I was glad to have his presence in my house as a guest. We had sat down for some hot cocoa and he wiped his lips with what appeared to be his shirt sleeve and began telling me the story of his life.
He was born as a Homunculus in an old alchemist's lab, inside a dirty, semen-stained glass jar. It was late summer and, he told me, he could still remember the feeling the sun had on his fresh young skin. Two weeks after his birth, the alchemist had taken him out of the jar and stopped feeding him blood, but now cakes were the young Homunculus' treat and he enjoyed them immensly like a young Cyrano but without the nose. The cakes were baked at a local bakery which was run by the mayor's daughter. A beatiful looking thing with a gracious smile. The homunculus had fallen instantly in love with her as he saw her leave from her shop one time. He had asked the alchemist about who that person was and the alchemist replied "A great mystery. One I had never known in my entire human life. Perhaps you would like to meet her? It does seem to be a problem for a person of your stature. I will do what I see fit and no more i can say." At that point the alchemist had fallen asleep by the bedside and the homunculus proceeded to climb on top of the alchemist's gigantic book shelf and proceeded to knock off those books, that seemed relative to the homunculus' problem, one by one.
As the books fell to the floor, a few of them had fallen to certain obscure, ancient chapters which had relayed to the homunculus, through bibliomancy, certain little aspects of knowledge which would've normally taken years to find. Especially for a homunculus if you take into account his diminuitive size.
The homunuculus proceeded to make notes of magick and alchemy in his little Homunculus notebook which was hidden away in an old abandoned rat hole. The young homunculus continud to study the texts which he had painstakingly written down and attempted to thranslate some of the more esoteric parts into the local language. Then, one bright sunny winter day, the Homunculus had discovered the answer to his problem and had decided to do what he felt to be right in his heart.
He had sneaked in the night into an old local music school where he had proceeded to steal a piece of piano wire from the treble clef. The piano wire he then attached to two wooden blocks which fit snuggly into the Homunculus' little hands. After uttering the right prayers, the Homunculus snuck out of the school and crossed, through a tunnel in the snow, the road into the alchemist's laboratory, to the chair where the alchemist was sleeping. Slowly creeping up the chair's back, the Homunculus took out the garotte from his jacket's pocket and slowly, stealthily wrapped it around the alchemist's neck...and pulled. The alchemist woke up suffocating, gasping for air, but he couldn't breath. The Homunculus was using all of his strength to squeeze the garotte noose around the alchemist's neck tighter and tighter, even, at one point, pushing off the back of the alchemist's neck with his two little Homunculus feet. He choked and choked the alchemist till he was sure that the old man was dead and not breathing. At that point, the Homunculus scurried onto the alchemist's shoulder, grabbed one of the alchemist's nose hairs and climbed up into the alchemist's head where he proceeded to take control of the alchemist's body through strange and weird magickal rites which involved the fusing of the neural pathways between two living creatures. Finally, within hours, the Homunculu's work was done and the alchemist rose, now being the Homunculus himself. Finally the Homunculus had what he desired, size! With a great shout of joy, the Homunculus/alchemist leapt up like a frog and proceeded to run around the lab, yelling like a crazy man...
That morning the Homunculus proceeded to make a trip to the bakery to purchase those, oh so fine, cakes and to glance upon the beautiful baker. But he no sooner stepped through the doorway's threshold when he, the Homunculus, had noticed a visible discomfort take shape upon the fine baker's face.
"Oh, sir! You have but such a large scar upon your neck! It is if you have been strangled!"
The Homunculus no sooner heard this when he replied,
"Oh, but it is nothing, my dear lady, but a small cut made completly by accidnet in my foolish carelessness. It does give me pleasure to see you worry about me and my visibly altered appearance... perhaps you'd like to sleep with me?"
Oh, but the Homunculus had no love for man's manners and the whole observances of such things have seemed to be totally unneeded in his view. And so his question was direct and relayed a type of manner which was quick to the point and quick to the punch. It was such a manner that the ladies of that time (especially the daughters of mayors) disapproved of, no matter how right the proposal seemed in their view. Ah, how she rejected the Homunculus and how saddened he was by it. It was as if a great pile of rocks had befallen upon our hero's head and he became a fish wallowing in a sea of depression.
So that night the Homunculus turned to his former master's books agan, knocking them off the bookshelf one by one and then glancing upon their random pages in a bizzare version of bibliomancy. and that night he had written all of the new information down in the alchemist's old notebook and proceeded to study the writings which he had transcribed.
By morning, the Homunculus had devised a potion which would've brought the baker into a state of seeming death and, in the Homunculus' view, the baker would be his Juliet and he would be the Romeo, if Romeo was an abominable necrophiliac creation of God.
The drink was offered to the baker and she, being so ever polite, drank it in full view of the Homunculus. She had fallen "dead" that very afternoon and a funeral procession had taken the "body" down to the local graveyard the next morning where it was left completely unguarded and a prize for the taking for our clever Homunculus hero. And take the prize he did! Many times that day loud moans and grunts were heard emanating from the cemetary grounds but all the townfolk had the incorrect impression that it was just the local mortician completing his work.
The next day, the "body" was placed into a heavy wooden coffin, nailed tight, and buried 13 feet below the ground upon which the townpeople were standing. And in that buried coffin, a young woman woke up.. a bit too late it seems, but we must not dwell on that and move on! For our hero had bidden a farewell to the people and had left town to travel the country.. collecting strange fetishes.... 
[ 05-10-2001: Message edited by: Lionheart ] |
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