SOUP CHILD PT ONE
In old days, before you were born, and before your pairents knew the world, in olden days things were more spiritual than now. I want to tell you a
storey of an Alchemist and his magical, although clumsy doughter.
One day. Many years ago in the woods many were gatherd. All dancing and drinking in time to Mrs Maples the local Witches music.
Minister Slimp , an unbeleaver heaved through the brambles and bushes. His face was full of fear and disbeleaf.
The Alchemist stood proud and regal with his shot gun between folded arms. A young girl dressed in a white smock was led past him by two other
women who held her wrists firmly but gentley. The Alchemist smiled and patted the girl on the head as she past. She was lead to a great tree. From
it a thick branch stuck out. From that hung a hangmans noose. Below on the ground sat a round wooden box with many coloured triangles painted on it.
A hat of uncooked pastery was placed on the young girls head. Then she stood on the box and the noose was placed around her neck. The Alchemist
looked on with aproovle . As he loaded a cartrige into his rifle Minister Slimp shook his arm.
'What in Gods name is going on here' he said aghast. 'What are you going to do with that poor girl?'
The Alchemist turned his head slowly and said in a dry cold voice. 'Mincing queenÉ That girl wants to be an Alchemist. Just like all gatherd today.'
'But why this evil game.'
'This is no game Minister Squid. This be her initiation into the Alchemists circle. An initiation that takes courige and guts. A safe guard for us. After
all we must protect our selves from the weak.. You see the box she is standing on shall be kicked away from under her feet. She will start to hang.
But with my gun I will shoot. Cutting the rope in half thus the girl will remain with us to become an Alchemist.'
'that's foul' said Minister Slimp. 'I'm going to the Christian church to put an end to this.'
'You do that fuck face and see how far you get' said the Alchemist aiming his gun.
The next morning the girl sat by the tree on the grass with a soggy bottom. The Alchemist tapped her on the shoulder.
'Come flippy floppy girl' he said. 'Come to my humble home. Taste my freshly cooked parsnips. Feel them fill you. Dance on my wine glass. Fall into my
vat. Sample my bed sheets with your teeth in mixed ectasy and uncomfortable behind. Sleep it off in my arms. This then is what awaits you. Fresh
hair. Fresh new face. Exspensive ring, bangles and ear studs. Better than a soggy bottom eh?'
The girl stood up and smiled at the Alchemist.
'I'm sorry oh great one' she said. 'I must decline your offer of the good life albeit a pleasant but some what naughty one. I must return to the city to
do the home work you have set me. Will I be at the city by night fall?'
'By night fall tomorrow.'
'Is there a inn I could stay at?'
'There is. But you may scorn it little girl.'
'Why is it humble.'
'No it is Christian.'
'I'd rather sleep by the side of the road' the girl scoweld and she ran over the hill. The Alchemist watched her go with pride in his eyes. Then he
turned to go home.
The Alchemists daughter lived in the tower of the house. A rope that rang a huge bell hung from her ceiling. On odd days at odd moments she would
dangle upon it making an awful noise.
Her name was Braken Hurter and she liked to eat soup. When she heard the Alchemist enter the house she bounded down the stairs to greet him.
'Hallo Sperm Farther' she said gayly. 'Did the Alchemist girl hang?'
'No. My aim was true as ever' said her father taking off his coat and frowing it away.
'When will you hang me?' she asked eagerly.
'Never. I want a son to carry on my work. Not a daughter.'
'Then you best drink more male hormoans and go and see Overy Mother.'
'Never.'
Into the kitchen they walked. Braken Hurter made her tired father a cup of herble tea. She looked in a saucepan for soup. But it was empty.
'Father I need soup' she wimperd.
The Alchemists eyes travled from his tea cup to her face. 'There are gipsy travlers in the woods' he said. 'Go to them. Make friends with them. And
they will give you soup. They are famouse for making soup.'
His daughter put a finger to her lips. 'Ooohh. They like to fuck too don't they?'
'Most people do. Now go.'
Braken Hurter rushed out the door to the woods to find the travlers and their soup.
Sexton Ming