Amuse-bouche:

Everything’s fiction in one way or another.

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Today’s Wonderful Word: “formication.”

Definition: the sensation of ants or insects crawling on or under the skin.

Califormication by the Red Hot Fire Ants

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Writing from May 5^th, 2020

Dust.

And breath. In a brown chair which he crafted, at a metal table which he forged, sat a man older than the dust around him. Good, he thought aloud. The formed clay upon the table would soon be white and dry. Unless there were

Breath.

And life. The skilled artist shaped the human clay figure to dawn the appearance of movement – creases at the bends of the arm, a foot lifted off the table, joints and ligaments and bones, and dust gathered all around. To his dusty feet, which he carried around more than they did he, stood the man. With my movement he is great, he thought. Now he will begin to hate me, but I will love him. Decrepit hands reached down to continue forming and shaping, making small adjustments now and then and forevermore, creating anew and destroying again, lifting, humbling, and all he did was for

Motion.

And purpose. Without movement the clay was to be called “wolf.” With love the clay was to be called “sheep.” With breath and life and infinite purpose stood the man. He lowered himself to meet the eyes of the newborn clay figure standing on the surface of the table. “Without purpose,” he said, “you will find pleasure.”

Presently, the clay figure began to move, slowly at first. Dust fell from his joints and from the top of his head. Some found its way to the insides of the figure as it drew its first breath. It coughed. The old man stood straight and began to cry at the sound of hatred.

Two tears fell from the inside corners of his deep eyes, first from the right and second from the left. On the concrete floor of his workshop formed two drops of dust-mud. The artist stooped and swept up the rightmost tear with his left forefinger. He followed this pattern for the other. He stood again and began to reach towards his handiwork which was his spitting image.

What is he doing? thought the clay, alarmed at the approaching hand. As if in response to his question, warmth filled the clay’s body in response to the touch of the creator’s left forefinger upon his chest. “With purpose,” spoke the artist, “you will find joy.”

Joy, thought the clay called Sheep. He would forever associate warmth with the word “joy.” The artist placed his right forefinger on top of the sheep’s head. Immediately, the clay figure bent double and vomited. Empty, Sheep thought. At this, the artist cried a final tear from his right eye. It plopped on the back of the bent-over sheep and soaked his whole being. It filled the sheep called Child with joy warmth. And the child called Beloved came to know and to believe he would never cry like his Creator because his Creator had already cried for him.

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Answer to Saturday’s riddle:

5*1

Explanation:

0 = b

1 = d

2 = g

3 = l

4 = n

5 = r

6 = t

7 = v

8 = w

9 = y

Violet

Indigo

Blue

Green

Yellow

Orange

Red