~Layla~
We sat in the doctor’s house. The wood was dark, with black blotches here and there, and nobody thought to add a lighter color. There were no lamps or electricity, but the many candles he had lit illuminated the house. The doctor’s small frame was running between drawers and tables. He opened latches and scrambled for glass beakers and vials.
The way he took out old rusty knives and tongs looked very Einstein-ish. I gulped; my hands were so sweaty that they slipped on the leather table. The more I watched his nervous jittering, the more difficult it got to sit still. I followed his every move, his hairy finers poking into the cabinets and his head following suit because his arms were too short to reach. His lips tugged up in a smile, and he whistled as he giddily gathe
