It was a dreamy afternoon. The sky was blue and the warm sunlight seeped in through the windows. There was a wooden desk near the window with a simple white notebook and a few pencils. A soft breeze came in from the open window flipping the notebook open with its invisible hands. One of the pencils rolled off the desk and dropped to the floor. A hand picked up the pencil and went to the paper. It drew some lines but erased them and stopped to ponder on what it should create. Nothing was particularly coming to mind so it left for a few minutes.
After a while, the hand returned holding a new pencil with a clean sharp edge and created lines across a blank piece of paper. It drew a small bird. The bird had no wings but instead a rocket strapped to its back. The hand lit the rocket and the poor little bird shot right off the page and disappeared beyond the border of the paper. Before it was gone altogether, the hand picked up an older pencil and drew a cat and a dog. The poor things were forever connected by the tail. They chased each other off the page growling and hissing. Soon the hand came to a stop. It wondered what to draw next and drew a line. The line did nothing for it had no life in it. The hand curved the line upwards to create a tree. The tree swayed in a breeze and a few birds nestled in its branches. Then the trees multiplied and became a forest which soon had a small stream running through it with fish swimming in the cool waters. The stream made the paper sag so the hand drew a giant sun above the forest and dried the land. A forest fire appeared from the right corner of the paper and turned it to ashes.
The hand blindly chose a pencil, flipped to a new page, and began drawing once again. This time it created a figure. The figure, however, had no life as it had no heart and no mouth to speak. The hand disappeared then reappeared with a tube full of colors. It chose one and gave the figure a heart. The bright red heart thumped quietly and the figure opened its eyes. The figure then changed from an “it” to a “He” and walked around the paper continuously. He seemed bored so the hand drew a house. It was a simple one-story house with a simple garden with a few flowers.
After He disappeared into the house, the hand drew a chimney and smoke began to come out. Soon He planted flowers in His garden and cultivated vegetables. Insects appeared and bees sucked the nectar from the flowers. The hand quietly created another figure and soon “it” became “She”.
Love sprang from their hearts in burst of pink and red though they could not speak. They soon married and began to live in the same house. But their love didn’t last long. When She was created, it was different from His creation. She began to age. Gray hairs appeared and wrinkles covered Her face. He tried in every way to make Her happy. But the end came. She died in His arms. Soon, the house began to rot and the flowers and vegetables sagged. Bees died and there was no more honey for His toast, however, the youth that was in Him never disappeared. He was created with a new pencil. She was created with an old one. He cursed the hand in silence which had now gone to fetch an eraser. It was going to, in a way, kill Him to free Him from the pain of youth. He never grew old so what was the point of living in a world that did?
The eraser killed Him while He slept. It was a peaceful death that caused no pain. Soon the page was blank once again.
Then the artist sighed, stretched, closed the notebook, and left the room.
A bird created by the new pencil flew out into the blue skies under the warm sun.
© Copyright 2016 Naomi Folettia. All rights reserved.
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