To Limit Creation-A Fairytale

Gracilus was a simple boy who was son of a very not-so-simple mother. Mama was captivated by the exquisite, intricate novelties of life. Mama came home at sunrise with pockets overflowed of money then left after breakfast and wouldn’t be seen again until the sun set under the grassy hills behind their manor.

When she came home, the pink sky illuminated the goodies in her arms with a childlike glow. She carried piggybanks made of pure gold and televisions of different sizes for every room and bath bombs that released fragments of diamond. These commodities were all very nice until it was realized there was no electricity to power the televisions and the water must be conserved so you couldn’t throw a bath and there was never money to put in the golden piggybank when Mama was always spending it.

Mama didn’t like wasting her money on simple things like electricity or water. Poor people worried about bills. Mama didn’t worry about anything but shining her toys. Since Gracilus was a simple boy, he was in charge of simple things.

Gracilus had a gift-a gift of an artist. He could take any medium and transform it into a masterpiece on paper. People would test his skills by handing him broken graphite or clumps of old paint.

“I couldn’t even get the paint on the brush, it was so clumped together,” One of his clients warned. Gracilus decided he didn’t need a brush, scooper the paint in his hands, and splattered it across the paper, creating a rocky landscape filled with bumps and lumps. Gracilus was never limited by material. If he had something to create with, everyone knew he would succeed.

Gracilus made his simple money with his simple-looking-but-far-from-it gift to support him and his simple-hating mother. People would buy his art or sometimes pay him to create with the most peculiar medium he could find.

It was a humid spring evening when Gracilus would face his greatest challenge yet. Business had been nonexistent, and the sun was quickly setting. Gracilus was tapping his feet nervously against the pavement, hand twiddling his paintbrush. On the verge of giving up for the day and packing his set, a glowing figure approached from the distance. A woman advanced in a sparkling, amethyst gown, the ends of her apparel dragging behind her bare feet, picking up dirt. The lady didn’t seem to care for she wore a glowing smile that was a tad too large that showcased teeth much too white.

“Are you Gracilus? The woman asked, with a voice one would use to sing a meditative lullaby to an infant.

“Yes, ma’am.” Gracilus nodded humbly and gestured to his layers of artwork. “Can I interest you in any pieces?”

A soft rumble purred from the woman’s words so that when she spoke, the earth softly swayed with her rhythm. “I was thinking of viewing your skills firsthand. Will this suffice? The woman reached under her dress and pulled out a thick stash of green. It must have been hundreds, even thousands! Gracilus felt a greedy urge bubble in his stomach. By the looks of the woman’s elegant dress and neatly groomed golden hair, it was clear she was beyond comfortable in finances. But, he bit the inside of his cheek and nodded his head to the sign listing price ranges in resistance.

“That’s awful kind of you, but if you would like me to create a piece for you it’d only be twenty. I couldn’t take all that money from you, Miss.”

“Take it as a tip, then.” She insisted, pushing the money onto the counter with pianist painted fingers. She drummed the table once then stared intensely at Gracilus with golden-ringed almond eyes.

“I am Meditati, goddess of creation. I have traveled far and wide, chasing a legend who can create anything with anything. They said his name with Gracilus, a charming man with divine skill. Looking at your pieces, I must admit you’re gifted skill.”

Gracilus suddenly felt very dirty and small despite the compliment and modestly thanked the woman.

“Divine, however?” Meditati’s angelic face scrunched into disbelief. “That will be up to me, a divinity, to decide.”

Gracilus tried to stand tall and confident. Meeting the goddess’ gaze, he said, “I cannot promise they will be as divine as you, M’Lady. But, I shall try to amaze you so as your eyes will light with disbelief and you will be certain you did not travel so long for naught. What are your requirements so that I can pass your honorable test?”

“Something with nothing.” Meditati demanded.

“Pardon?”

“It is impressive to make something out of anything. It is divine to me make something out of nothing.”

Gracilus looked at his station of supplies and mediums. All of that were to remain untouched? The paints, the glues, the scraps of paper and stamps. How could a goddess expect something so divine out of something so simple?

Nonetheless, Meditati was determined to try. Closing his eyes so tight that no shred of light or splotch of color could appear, he sized up the darkness. Then, he summoned a string of light. It was small and fit nicely in his calloused hand. He’d begin with something straightforward-an apple tree.

He stretched out the string of light and let it trail behind him as he lightly sketched the outline of the apple tree with its trail of luminescence. Then, like sewing, he firmly looped the light on the dim outline, starting with the thick bark and finishing with the shiny apples. Determining the sun would hit the tree on it’s right side, he left the unlighted areas black so that it blended with the background and filled the lighted side of the tree with various degrees of brightness.

When Gracilus opened his eyes, he couldn’t believe what he saw! A colossal apple tree loomed above him, leaves bright and green, apples smooth and glossy. He placed a hand on the jagged wood and recoiled in shock. A small splinter stuck out of his finger.

Gracilus forced the stumbled words out of his mouth. “Did I do this?

Meditati was just as astounded as Gracilus. She stared up at the trees, eyes glowing in amazement. From under her breath, a wobbly whisper escaped, “No mere mortal…”

She turned her golden gaze to Gracilus, a genuine smile softening her features. “You are truly divine, Gracilus. You have a gift.”

But, Gracilus could not process her words. His mind was instead running overtime, considering all the possible creations that were at his fingertips. His imagination was boundless. Never once had Gracilus felt so free in his craft.

“Gracilus, you must come with me.” Meditati pleaded. “You gift would be oh so helpful to me. Think of all the things your artistically inclined mind could help me create.”

Gracilus pondered the offer, but deep down he knew he could not leave. “Dear goddess, I am flattered. But I cannot leave my Mama. She needs me.”

“There will never be a moment where she is left alone. If she is in the house, you shall be to. But, while she is away, you will work with me. I can pay you in a way this small homemade business could not dream of.” Meditati reasoned.

Gracilus pondered all the art he could create and all the money he could bring home. Not only could Gracilus bring simple things so that Mama could put to use her exquisite things. He could surprise her with exquisites himself!

“Very well, Meditati.” Gracilus approved.

Thus, from sunrise to sunset, besides breakfast, of course; Gracilus would travel around the world with Meditati and create whatever she requested with his mind. He would create specially-carved katanas for ninja warriors and crystal chandeliers for the queens of the most renown realms. There was never a time where Gracilus’ skills were not needed.

However, with all these specific requests, a hole began to form in Gracilus’ passion. With his clients at home, he could create whatever he longer for. If they had a request, he could add something extra of his own. But, now, there was no room for individual expression. Meditati had a blueprint for Gracilus to follow and he was under no right to stray the smallest from it. There was not even time for him to express his creativity at home. He spent his free time in town buying all the things Mama wished for, proud that for once, he was not too simple for Mama.

Thus, Gracilus begun to take artistic liberty into his special orders. When the Sensei ordered his fifth katana, Gracilus instilled wings in the weapon, so that the Sensei could cut from air. Unfortunately, the katana could not both fly and slice. When the Sensei went to slice his foe, he found himself soaring higher and higher in the air, farther and farther away from his enemy. He could not get down for days.

So Gracilus tried again. He thought it would be absolutely wonderful to have chandeliers that could sing. A lovely melody would only enrich the brightly lit room, Gracilus determined. However, when the chandelier was installed into the Queen’s chamber, the crystals sung so loud and high that the chandelier began to shake. It quivered and swayed, but the crystals would not stop singing. Eventually, the crystals hit a note so high that all glass in the castle shattered into millions of crystalized pellets.

Gracilus was working on his newest creation when Meditati pulled him aside for a private conversation.

“Gracilus, have you been disobeying the strict instructions I hand you to create?” Meditati demanded.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Gracilus confessed. “However, you cannot hold me accountable. It is the artist within me. It wills to create and experiment, but you force it to follow an inflexible blueprint. That is not why I was bestowed upon this gift.”

“Gracilus, I cannot have you creating whatever your mind wills. You are innocent now, but you may be changed. A mortal shall not have your power.”

“Then, take my power away!” Gracilus cried. “I do not care that I can bring things to life! I was not made for construction. I only want to be an artist once more.”

Meditati stared at Gracilus, solemn, but proud. Gracilus swayed on his feet anxiously, awaiting her verdict.

“I will make something for you that will allow you to both create things for me and will allow you to use your artistry as you please. Go home, and I will visit you in three days.”

So Gracilus travelled home, apprehensively awaiting Meditati’s arrival. He had no financial need to create, as he now had enough money to last a centennial. Yet, he still had a much stronger emotional need to create. Gracilus gathered his paints and clays and pastels and headed to his old shop, where he patiently stood for clients-no pay necessary.

For three days he drew and sculpted and sketched, liberated once more. Gracilus almost forgot all about Meditati’s visitation until her rosy painted nails slide money on the counter. He glanced up, hazel eyes burning to get a glimpse at the goddess’ innovation.

“Dear, Gracilus,” Meditati began. “Your constructions have been of great service to me. You fabricate things at a level that challenges my own. However, you were not meant for blueprint innovation. You were born for artistic creation.”

Meditati summon a leather spiraled book and opened it. Pages white as snow fluttered one after the other, thicker than normal copy paper. Meditati fondly held the blank book to Gracilus, which Gracilus tenderly held in his hands.

“A book?” He questioned.

“Not just any book. A sketch book,” Meditati amended. “I will still be needing you to construct for me. But here, you can create whatever I mandate while adding your unique decorative touch. You will give the sketch to me, and I will bring to life what I feel is fit.

Gracilus stroked the leather cover gingerly. “I can draw what my heart wills?”

Meditati nodded. “But, remember Gracilus. With this sketchbook that I bestow upon you, you cannot create things with your mind. It is too strong of a power for a mortal to hold without my supervision.”

Gracilus assured the goddess that he understood and bid her adieu.

Over the decades, Gracilus will create sketches for Meditati’s creations with his signature twists: A plane that could go underwater, a wine glass that could not only hold wine, but summon it too. Meditati would thank Gracilus and take the parts of his creation she needed. When Gracilus filled out a sketchbook, Meditati would bring him another.

Many years later, when Gracilus’ mother had long since passed and Gracilus’ once nimble fingers were shriveled and wrinkled, he knew he only had enough passion in him for one more creation.

Doing something Gracilus promised the goddess he’d never do again, he closed his eyes tight and brought before him a black canvas. Summoning light with dimming strength, he sewed together sketchbook after sketchbook, piling them upon one another until the reached the sky. When the stack reached the moon and he could no longer add another, Gracilus would start anew.

When Meditati came to visit Gracilus for his latest creation, Gracilus laid dead under a hundred piles of sketchbooks, each reaching the moon. Cradled in his arms held a paper torn from the first sketchbook Meditati gifted him. Under his first sketch of millions to come, cursive writing sung, “So others can sketch the creations that bring them to life.”