The Making by Madelaine Taylor

It was getting dark much earlier now. The sun was barely in the sky before it set again and the moon was revelling in its elevation to the lead role. Unseen stars sparkled from far distant galaxies, masked from sight by thick, dark, blankets of cloud. Rain clattered against the thin metal roof, creating a din reminiscent of the ill fated millipede tap troops latest review. 

“‘Ere, Frank.” 

“Yes, Professor?” The oddly shaped man looked up from the table before him, an eyebrow raised in quizzical fashion. 

“An ear Frank, I need an Ear.” 

“My apologies, professor Styen.” The man turned and picked up a small pickle jar with his clawed hand. A fleshy blob, delicate and pale, floated within, unrecognisably distorted by the fluid and the glass. He groaned as he struggled and twisted the jar. The professor looked on, shaking her head and sighing. 

“I’ll have it in a minute professor, just -unh- just give me a minute.” 

Professor Styen rolled her eyes. 

“Of course, Frank. Take your time, no hurry, I’m sure the storm’ll last a few hours yet, maybe even days. I mean, we’ve only waited all year for it…” 

“It’s coming, professor, just a….” A grunt, a twist, the clatter of a small tin lid bouncing off the cobbled floor. Frank held up the open jar, a toothless smile on his twisted, pride filled face. The Formaldehyde splashed over the rim and onto the patchwork body on the table. The woman stretched two fingers into the jar, pulling out the body part. 

“I don’t think this is an ear, Frank.” The fleshy part was most definitely not the delicate shell of an ear. Frank blushed. 

“OO err, no Professor. I.. I must have brought the wrong jar.” 

“So…” The professor sighed. “Where’s this bit go?”

Published in Issue #7

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