Means of Production

“That… was not what I was expecting.”
Jake stood in the doorway, flung open by Karen moments before. The basement stretched out before them, illuminated in sickly yellow light. Shelves were weighed down with endless cages, built for hamsters but crammed with larger creatures. They varied greatly in shades of red and blue and in the number and length of spikes and spines, but they were all hunched, stringy beings, chittering pitifully.
“No one ever does,” Karen shrugged. “Well, welcome to the production room of Bernard’s Brewery. Let me take you through it.”
Karen bounded down the steel stairs, Jake trailing timidly. She plucked a cage from a shelf, the occupant screeching, and swung open one of the vast vats about the room. The sharp stink of ethanol burst forth.
“Contrary to popular belief, ethanol on its own won’t get you drunk,” Karen dangled the cage above the clear liquid. “It needs a little extra.”
She plunged the cage into the ethanol. The imp shrieked as it dissolved.
“There, the Demon Drink.”

View this story's 2 comments.