by R. M. Fuller
Once there was a child, pure and good. A child no more than five, with eyes like the ocean and hair like pale fields of wheat. More than anything, this child loved to create. He’d spend hours under the warmth of the sun, building castles in his sandbox and people out of mud.
His elders, no longer interested in such things, would smile sweetly at him or pat him gently on the head as they walked by. But, the child paid them no notice. He was busy, doing the things that little children do.
Out of happenstance, one day, a group of elders strolling through the gardens where the young boy played paused to smile at the youth, as they contemplated their latest dilemma.
“It’s very small and very new.” The matron of the group said. She was the only lady among the five, and she was the eldest and most esteemed. “I do not know of anyone who would take it.”
One of her companions nodded in agreement. “It is true. Our kind is too old, too set in their ways for such a task. There’s really no use holding a counsel for such a matter.”
“But, a counsel must be held, nonetheless.” Another remarked. “We cannot simply ignore this.”
There was a collective mumbling of reluctant agreement, to his statement.
“Should we force it upon someone?” Yet another elder asked. “Trick someone into taking it?”
They looked around at each other and shrugged.
The matron shook her head and rolled her eyes. She only half listened to her four companions, as they continued to debate and disagree. Instead, her attention was drawn to the little boy playing in the sand.
She watched the boy for a long time. The way he lost himself in his own imagination, not sparing a single glance to the elders around him. The boy was curious, inventive, and, most of all, focused.
“Here, give me the thing.” The matron said to her companions, holding out her palm. “I have an idea.”
She took the object and walked over to the little boy playing in the sand and mud. “Child?” She asked, smiling sweetly at him and holding out her hand. “How would you like something else to play with?”
The little boy looked up at her with his curious blue eyes, then down at her hand. His chubby little fingers wrapped around the object she held out to him.
“You can do with it as you like, my child. All you have to do is give it a name.” The matron told him.
He looked at her again, his eyes wide and excited, then back at the object. It was small, like a marble, covered with blue and green. He noticed, somewhat nervously, that the others she was with had come over to watch.
The matron waited as the child looked the object over, turning it around in his fingers and holding it up to the sun. Until, finally, his piercing blue gaze met hers.
“Have you given it a name?” She asked.
The little boy nodded.
“And what shall your world be named, little one?” She smiled.
“Earth.” He answered, smiling. Then, went back to his creations.