The Modern Prometheus and the New Dionysus

The Moment

Henry painstakingly measured out the chemicals, pouring them into his graduated glass, though not mixing them yet. He had already made sure that no one would enter the laboratory. Poole and the maids had been instructed years ago to not enter the laboratory whilst he was working, and when he had knocked on the bedroom that Victor had chosen, there had been no response, so he assumed that the lad had turned in for the night. Henry took a deep breath as he finally mixed the chemicals, watching them combine into a shimmering crimson solution, shining in the candlelight like a vial of tiny diamonds. His hands began to shake slightly as he poured ten centilitres of the solution into a test tube, his body finally catching up with his mind, as if it were trying to stop him from continuing. Henry shook his head and forced his hands to still. He was going to finish this experiment, whatever the cost.

Henry carefully took a few grains of the final ingredient, a special scientific salt, and dropped them into the solution. He swirled the tube gently, letting the salt dissolve. As it did, the liquid turned an unnaturally bright green. His body flinched away from the colour, but his mind was enthralled. Henry stared into the acidic green formula, both fascinated and terrified by its beauty. He swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. Henry took a halting breath. He had to do this. He had to use himself as the subject of the experiment. He stepped over to his white notebook, flipping it open and writing the date and time at the top of the page. 'September 13, 11:58 P.M.' He looked at the formula in his hand one last time. He bounced on his heels for a moment before shaking his head sharply and practically throwing the formula into his mouth before he could change his mind.

Henry nearly choked on the salty, bitter taste of the formula. It stung his tongue as he swallowed, burning his throat on the way down. He took note of the experience. He tugged as his collar, suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm. Henry slipped his labcoat off as the warmth spread throughout his entire body. As he turned to set it on a less cluttered part of the table, he stumbled as he felt a bit lightheaded. Henry leaned against the table, his coat slipping through his fingers. He took steadying breaths, managing to collect himself after a minute of this. As Henry began to write again, a peal of laughter spilled from his mouth as a burst of... euphoria sparked through him. He took another note, his handwriting growing increasingly wild and messy the more he wrote.

He turned and leaned his back against the table, breathing heavily as he felt his heart begin to beat faster. "That's it then. The die is cast," he said, voice somehow breathless despite how much oxygen he was inhaling. He laughed again, head falling back. Had the ceiling always been so high above him? "I'll show them. I'm right, and I'll-" Henry stopped, eyes widening as a burst of pain stabbed deep into his ribcage. He placed his hand over the area with a gasp, half-expecting to find an open wound. He reached for his pen with a shaking hand. His handwriting had become a barely legible scrawl, rife with spatters of ink. As he wrote, Henry froze. His left hand. He was writing with his left hand. His father had beat that out of him when he had first begun to learn his letters. Before he could swap the pen to his other hand, agony tore through him in a violent spasm, causing the pen to fall from his fingers. "Dear God," he whispered.

Henry gasped, falling forwards against the table as the burning in his veins swelled to an unbearable apex, filling his entire body with the heat of the fires of hell. He retched as a deathly nausea twisted his stomach, bringing him to his knees. Henry coughed violently, the vibrant green solution spattering the floor and burning where it hit his hands. Another spasm of agony tore through him, and this time he heard something snap. Suddenly his arms couldn't support him, and he fell completely to the ground, gasping for breath and writhing in anguish. An agonized scream, high pitched and drawn out, tore itself from his throat as his bones began to snap, tearing the tendons and veins around them. "PLEASE!" Henry didn't know who or what he was screaming for. God's mercy? His mother to comfort him again, as she had when he was young? Victor, to wake and help him? Death to take him before he shattered, like his father? Of course, no one would hear. He knew that.