Sunday, May 2, 2010
The fog seems to seep in from every crack and pour, the smell of dusty old wood lingers in the air. The silence is pierced only by the sound of an old man working feverishly. He is the toy maker, his entire life has been devoted to making the beautiful little dolly for Susan or the best red train set for Tommy. His toy’s are renowned for their beauty, there symmetry and perfection as if made by machine, but there’s something more, though, something warmer than anything of steal could ever create. He is old now, his eyes are poor and his hands shake, but his toys still are perfect. On this particular night he is making a set, a little doll of a girl and a boy holding hands. “huh!” he proclaims as he adds the finishing touches to them both, for her, light blond hair and deep blue eyes, and for him jet black for both, with a well versed stroke of his hand he paints a pretty smile on the girl, a smile that could melt the hearts of any who see her. But as he goes to do the same for him, he realises this will be the last toy he ever makes as pain suddenly grips his chest. He slumps forward causing the line for the boy’s smile to arch downwards on one side. The old man’s years finally caught up to him as he passed away that night. Time passes and once the man’s funeral has come to pass his toys are sold off, as he has no family. But because of the boys broken smile nobody wants to buy the set. So there they sit in the toyshop on a shelf holding hands staring into nothing. The girl’s radiant smile beaming at all. She seems not to notice the boy’s asymmetric happiness, as she cannot see where his smile falters.