Carmen’s pen drifted along the page as he walked, dandelions popping up between his toes. A tune fell from his lips, and then flew to meet the bluebirds. He watched it go, with slight intrigue, but mostly his concern lay in his work. His calling.
The pen jerked up and he frowned down at the parchment again. Like puzzle pieces, sand and soil crumpled together where saplings popped up in front of him, reaching reaching reaching for the sky until they were towering over Carmen, and he simply walked beneath them. Dragonflies whizzed above his head in their new arena, dancing and buzzing one another as they munched on crunchy mosquitoes.
Carmen paused. He cocked his head to the side, pondering the empty valley in front of him. So boring. So flat. Where was the creativity in this landscape? It’s almost as if someone had drawn it simply to get it out of the way, get it done. He shook his head. Such carelessness some Cartographers possessed. How could they even call themselves Cartographers with such ridiculous examples of their work. He tapped the page and tiny black dots splattered the beige parchment. Carmen jerked, realizing a drop had soured over the edge of the page. He let his head fall forward and groaned.
A mountain rumbled up from the plain valley- a magnificent creature. Carmen smiled, and sighed in relief at it’s beauty. He hadn’t made a mountain in a while and he always loved how the trees faded from green, to teal, and then eventually a deep indescribable blue, soft and chalky. Then something began to shift.
Carmen groaned again, hating himself for being so quick to think nothing would happen from the spill. If he was lucky, and he often was, the only outcome would be a deformed toad, or maybe an upside-down rose bush. But the way the ground was turning made him fear the worst. The ground shook beneath him. Gravel tumbled out from under his feet and up, up, up, until the dirt and grit and gravol created an embankment for miles around him, and he was left in the bottom of a crater with the damp clay. Or rather, moist clay. Or, no: Slimy clay. How was it suddenly wet? Before he knew it, water was seeping out of the clay.
Carmen pulled the parchment out of the water, and scrambled to his feet, then he broke out into a trot. Rising water splashed around his ankles and he cursed as it passed his knees, slowing him down to the point where he had to start swimming. This is way worse then a deformed toad. He thought. He hadn’t had a day like this for awhile. The last time he had to deal with a spill this bad he’d been demoted to janitorial work- a position he wasn’t entirely fond of, where you had to clean up after other Cartographers. Messes that ranged from seedless watermelons to two-headed flying giraffes. Carmen loathed cleaning up other people’s crap, especially because their mistakes always seemed more ridiculous then his- so many other Cartographers would mess around with things on purpose! It didn’t seem fair that just because Carmen was the the youngest meant any little mistake and he’d be on cleanup for the next three weeks. He’d just have to deal with whatever happened as it came. Like the water.
By the time he got to shore, the damage had already been done; the ink from the parchment had been soaked and leaked into the splash's lake the entire swim. Carmen gritted his teeth anxiously, looking back at the lake. Wondering what kind of havoc would arise from his mistake. That’s when a fish flopped out of the water, looked Carmen straight in the eye, and said “I hate Wednesdays.”
A/N: I'm mostly concerned if the concept of the idea was easy to understand. I feel like it was unclear how I explained it, so if you were super confused please let me know! <3 This is by no means a masterpiece, just a little story that popped into my head that I wrote the other day. I want to either rewrite this as it is or rewrite it with a lot darker feel to it, because the original idea wasn't quite as peachy.