This is a #storygram (mini-story) from my Instagram, which you can get to via the social media links at the top of this site. I do my best to make them daily for you to enjoy! YES, many of them will hopefully be expounded upon in novels or other future writing endeavors of mine. Thank you very much for reading and sharing them! And don’t forget to check out my film Portfolio too!
The Story:
He remembered a time when children would crowd his shop to gawk at his craftsmanship. They would point and smile at the sparks that leapt from the white-hot metal as he hammered it into a shape. They would take turns trying to lift his anvil, just to marvel at its heaviness. Their favorite thing to watch was the steam that would roil from his water bucket when hot steal was thrust into it to cool.
He loved his craft, but no one ever asked him what his favorite part of it was. Everyone assumed it was the final object that days of hard work and hammering rendered. But the completed project was actually his least favorite. His next least favorite was how long it took to finish his work. He enjoyed the process, but that wasn’t his favorite part either.
More than any other thing, he enjoyed watching them back–their awed expressions and their eagerness to learn his trade. The reactions of the children made all of his years of apprenticeship and practice worthwhile.
He even began telling them stories based on his work. If he crafted a rose, he would tell them a tale of two lost lovers who found their way back to each other. If he crafted a sword, he would tell them a tale of a valiant knight who defeated an evil king.
It was when the accident happened that his joy began to crumble. The children knew not to cross the rope, but she did. Most children would’ve known to stay away from a man swinging a hammer, but she didn’t.
All of it happened so fast. He didn’t even hear her come up behind him.
No one blamed him. But he blamed himself. He erected a fence between the children and his work, to keep them safer. He stopped telling stories because he could no longer talk to them, as if his one act had been a betrayal of all the children in the world.
It wasn’t long before his safety rules forced children from his shop, entirely. He posted signs declaring that children were not allowed. He developed a reputation for hating them.
He didn’t feel deserving of their laughter, so he would never change his mind. But every day he would stand at the entrance to his shop and remember what it used to be like.