Prompt: “The world is held together, really it is held together, by the love and passion of very few people.”
The Iron Pen is an annual 24-hour short story contest sponsored by the Midwest Writing Center:
https://www.mwcqc.org/
The toymaker touched a paintbrush to his newest creation, his wizened hands delicately working in the small details. The little figure – an anthropomorphic rhinoceros wearing futuristic armor and holding a laser spear – was a silly little thing, but of course that was the point of a toy.
A little bell jingled as the shop door opened and a reedy, harried-looking man strode to the counter. The toymaker did not look up, as he was busy filling in the space rhino’s eyes.
“Sir? Sir, are you open?”
A dot of black for the pupil.
“I’ve heard that you can do things.”
The toymaker adjusted his glasses. “Yes, I believe that most people can, indeed, ‘do things.’”
“But you can do special things.”
The toymaker nodded and gestured to the space rhino. “Well, that’s certainly true. Back in the old days, we carved toys from wood. But this one is made of plastic, which means that I had to sculpt the original maquette out of clay and copper wire and then cast a silicone mold for each individual piece. And then, after injecting the mold with liquid vinyl, I used a pressure pot to force all the air out of the plastic, as otherwise the surface would be marred with bubbles, and – that isn’t what you’re asking about, is it?”
The exasperated man set his hands harshly on the countertop. Not a full slam, but loud enough to be threatening.
“You know what I’m talking about!”
“Do I?” the paint brush filled in the other eye.
“They said you can do anything for a price. That you can work miracles. Is it true?”
“Such a strange thing for ‘them’ to say,” the toymaker commented as he diluted his brush in water. “People have told me that I work miracles, but what I do is make toys. Did you know that every time a paint brush touches a toy, that’s another penny added to the overhead cost?”
He began to add some yellow to the space rhino’s armor, like a racing stripe.
“It’s my daughter. There’s been an accident.”
The paintbrush paused.
“She was out celebrating with her friends after finals week,” the man continued. “I don’t know, maybe they had a few drinks, but it wasn’t their fault. They were hit by a drunk in an eighteen-wheeler. Everybody else is okay, they’re calling it a miracle – but my girl is in the hospital and the doctors don’t know if she’ll live or die, and there’s surgery scheduled tomorrow, and I’ve heard rumors all my life that you’re a man who can perform miracles so please, help me.”
The painting resumed. “I suppose you want her to be well, then? Restored? None the worse for wear? Happy and healthy to live her little life?”
The customer flinched, affected by the coldness in the toymaker’s tone. “Please?”
He set the space rhino on a paint-stained square of paper towel, next to a figurine of a similarly-ridiculous cyborg frog.
“The paint needs to dry, anyway. I can spare a few minutes.”
“I’ll pay anything.”
The old man steepled his fingers together as he regarded his worried customer. “What precisely do you think you have that I would want as payment?”
The man’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t know. My soul, I guess?”
“Your soul? Whyever would I want your soul?”
“Aren’t you a devil?”
The toymaker chuckled coldly. “A devil? Of course not. I’m quite the opposite, really. Just an old man who enjoys creating things. And once I finish painting this space rhinoceros and his froggy friend, I think the next one should be a giraffe. Perhaps one with laser cannons attached to his neck.”
“Sir?”
He grinned again. “Of course. I’m sorry, I get distracted from time to time. I don’t ask for souls, my friend. Nor do I want your money. I require deeds – your payment for your little boon will be in services rendered. In actions, do you understand?”
“Actions?” the customer asked. “You want me to serve you?”
“Not precisely. You’re still thinking of this deal as something sinister. You’ve come to me to heal your wounded daughter and you assume that I only want to hurt you in some way. Why is that?”
The customer began to look up again. “Well, it–”
The toymaker held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s the state of the world, of course. You can’t help but see it. Wars water the gardens of the Earth with blood. Foul clouds of pollution choke even the sun in the sky. Injustice and poverty starve the innocent as greedy and cruel men celebrate every ill-gotten penny in their pockets. The cries of the helpless rise unheard from a cruel Earth all the way to Heaven itself. And yet. And yet. You will find a mother singing to her newborn. Young boys helping an old lady with her groceries. People who feed the hungry and lift up the downtrodden. Comfort for those in mourning. Safety for those in danger. Humanity against the inhumane. So shine these small, bright lights against a dark world. Do you understand what I am saying, my friend?”
“I – I don’t know. It sounds like–”
The toymaker interrupted again. “A wise man once said to love your neighbor, and when he was pressed to explain, he clarified that ‘neighbor’ meant even your worst enemies. Not many understand the meaning of this, but those who do – those blessed people – they can save this fallen world. Their kindness, their love – worked not for personal gain but for the sake of the act itself – they are few in number, but their impact is felt by millions.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Little things. Small deeds,” the toymaker said as he turned and picked up the small figure again. “I think I like this rhinoceros. I didn’t give him a name or a story – I often don’t feel the need to tell my creations what to do. Maybe he’s a villain, or perhaps he’s the hero. My opinion doesn’t matter. You see, three days from now a small child with pocket change will walk by my shop and he will see them in the display window. When he takes these toys home, he will come up with fantastic stories of outer space and mutant animals – pure silliness – but it will start his imagination on a long and fruitful career. Now, I won’t pretend that his writing will change the world – far from it – but those cute little cartoons will inspire a few viewers to live their lives with just a little more courage, just a little more kindness. And of course, they will teach their children the same lesson, who in turn will teach theirs as well. And this sick world will get just a little bit better. The tiny acts we do pay back in compound interest, and who knows what a little good can blossom into many years down the road. Do you agree? Now, what are you willing to do for me?”
“Anything. For my daughter, I’ll do anything.”
He set the toy down again. “Then do just that. Anything. Tiny acts of kindness. Deeds that seem insignificant in our heartless, ever-rushing world, but are more valuable in the sight of Heaven than all the greed and cruelty combined. Be generous. Be forgiving. Live a life of love, hope, and peace. Love the unloved. Help the helpless. Forgive your enemies. Do you think you can do that? You came to me assuming that we could broker a deal, that you could offer me something of value – your soul, perhaps – and in return I would bless your daughter, and then you would pay a terrible price. But that is not how I do things, nor has it ever been that way. Your daughter? She will recover. The surgery will go well, her physical therapy will be productive, and in time even her scars will fade. Perhaps she will show a little more discernment about who she spends her time with, but I suppose miracles can only go so far. But as for you, you do not need to sell your soul. You need to find it instead. Do you think you can do that?”
The customer still avoided eye contact with the toymaker, his eyes on the space rhinoceros instead. “I don’t know. I guess I can try.”
“Trying the most that any of us can do, but the majority of humanity won’t even get that far. If you try, you just might find yourself making the world a better place. The world is held together – truly held together – by the love and passion of very few people, but their work is more than worth it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The customer nodded, finally looking into the toymaker’s eyes. And for a moment, he saw it – a glimpse of the infinite, of white and gold and blue and green deeper and more vivid than anything on earth – but then it faded into the pale, aged brown of the toymaker’s gaze.
“I will, sir. I promise.”
The toymaker grinned.
“Then go and make the world a better place,” he said as he dipped his brush in paint again and prepared to finish work on his space rhinoceros. “But please buy a toy on your way out. Even I need to pay the rent.”
The customer left that store with a plush dinosaur, which he ended up giving to a lonely child. That child never forgot the act of kindness, and so the cycle continued. Trivial good deeds that shone in a world of darkness.
And there was hope.