Writing Prompts

[2/2]

"Well, sir, the creatures on it are still very primitive, and they live mostly in the sea. I want to experiment with the atmosphere a bit, and see if I can find a way to make it more accommodating of different kinds of life. As you can see, there are already some simple mosses on the land. I think, with time and the right conditions, they could process the land into a softer and more malleable form, enough that larger, more complex life forms might evolve..."

She realized the old man was looking at her in some surprise, and paused. But he simply shook his head, his smile returning. "You are a uniquely minded artist, Syracuse. I would have expected something about what areas of land you felt might have been better sculpted, perhaps something about pleasing mountain shapes or a unique cave system. I suppose this is how I myself would be likely to think about my work. But here you are, considering how to create the conditions for the piece to alter itself."

"Sorry sir, I..."

"No, no!" he waved again. "You've done well. In a way you are thinking more like a scientist, not like an artist. Surprising, for my own apprentice to develop such skills. But I suppose your true nature will out, regardless of your teaching."

"I was inspired by some of your earlier works, sir, and I've been experimenting with ingredients in my free time. I have a friend who's apprenticing as a scientist... he and I have been working on some theories together..."

Syracuse watched the old man place the ball carefully back onto its platform, and, with the gentlest fingertip-touch, set it spinning again. The sun had set by now, and the room was lit only by lamps and by the purpling glow of twilight. The harsh overhead lamplight made him seem smaller, more wizened.

"I am proud of you, Syracuse," he said. "This is a splendid masterwork. May I add it to my collection? I would be most pleased to have it."

"Of course, sir!" she said, jumping up. "Thank you so much! You can certainly have it. I'm already thinking of a better one. I think, with more surface area to work with and higher gravity, I could..."

She prattled on this way as she followed him to the shelves at the back of the room. He reverently placed it on a side shelf, nearly at eye level, where it would be well-placed to catch the glow of the sun tomorrow morning. There were other student works there -- masterworks by previous apprentices -- and she felt a warm glow in her chest, seeing it there alongside others she had long admired.

Calabash led her back towards the workroom door. "Let us speak again tomorrow," he said. "These old bones need rest. You, too, should rest easy tonight. You've had many long nights of hard work. Or, go and celebrate with your friends, if you feel up for it."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," she gushed, turning towards the landing. Then, suddenly, she turned back and embraced the old man tightly around the middle. He wheezed and gently patted her hair. "Thank you so much for everything, sir." Releasing him, her feet already flying down the stairs, she gave him a final wave and soon disappeared from view.

Sighing, the old man returned to his study and stood before his shelves. All around him, creations of every size and shape spun, wobbled, even orbited in the larger domes. He looked over his own works in the centre shelves -- exquisite carvings, he knew, perfect arrangements, wonderful balance of elements. In every piece, unrivalled craftsmanship. Syracuse's piece did not have this level of skill, but it had a unique soul and energy. Fondly, he placed his hand upon it, feeling the warmth through the glass.

Change.

He smiled, closed the curtains against the darkening sky, and headed to bed.