Well, today I wanted to write but didn't have any ideas for a longer story. So I just picked something small and decided to do a short story as an exercise.
Then I decided I would do others in the future and post them here. So I've made this thread for that purpose.
Here is the first:
***
Making New Friends
Phaleodon sat by the sea, carving a man.
The little block of wood was half a foot tall and three inches wide. He held in his little hand a small carving knife he had taken from his father’s drawer.
He sat on a rocky outcrop, on the largest boulder of the group. Frothy water washed up around its sides with every wave and then receded. Small black crabs picked their way amongst the rocks. Phaleodon watched one scuttle past his foot and disappear.
Wooden detritus was gathering on his shirt and breeches and around him as he carved furiously at the wood. His tongue stuck out from between his lips. The boy was almost in his ninth year, somewhat below average in height and not particularly intelligent. His eyes had a sparkling curiousity, now burning with an intense concentration as they stared at the blooming sculpture.
Phaleodon’s father did not approve of his art. He said real men did real work. He had told Phaleodon he could be a carpenter. All the children that lived in the village seemed to have the same idea. They would tease Phaleodon when he would carve instead of playing with them. But Phaleodon wanted to be a sculptor.
For half an hour he chiselled away, chipping at the wooden block, until eventually he honed it into a tiny man wearing clothes much like his. He started meticulously with the face. With the ocean roaring around him he was entirely absorbed with his work. A large wave splashed against the rock and sprayed him with salty mist. He did not notice.
At last, the little man was complete. His face, despite his minute size and the quality of his maker, was extremely detailed. The boy had a prodigious talent.
He beamed proudly with his own work and set the man down on the rock—it had been made well and its straight legs and flat feet allowed it to balance easily on the grey rock surface.
“Hello!” he exclaimed. “I am Phaleodon. I made you!”
Suddenly, the little man blinked, and looked up at the towering figure of the boy. Phaleodon’s eyes widened in disbelief and his mouth hung agape. Wait until I show this to daddy! he thought in wonder.
He knelt down and looked at the man curiously. Then he reached out.
With a barely audible shriek the little wooden man wailed and jumped away. With huge powerful strides he carried himself an inch at a time towards the edge of the rock. Phaleodon blinked and leapt after him. “Wait!”
But the wooden man lunged over the edge and was gone. The boy stared down at the murky blue-green waters. They swelled, then receded, exposing the gravely sand beneath. The man was not there.
He sighed, downcast.
Then an idea struck him. His face brightened with the excitement and hope only a child could muster. He ran back home to get more wood.
This time he would carve out someone who wanted to be his friend.
