Fledgling

I want to make things. Beautiful things. I want to paint the world with starlight and glass, luster and life. The crash of an ocean wave soaked in vivid reds and blues. I want to make things. Horrible things. The innocence of evil, grizzle, blood, and beasts. The long, grimy fingers of cold, cold fear that close fast around you this very instant. I want to make things. Powerful things. A flash of lightning that turned the tide. The axe that split the frozen lake. The hand that grasps yours across the void. The voice that cries, 'YOU ARE NOT ALONE!' I want to make things. Simple, complex things. Things that make people stop. And think. About the things they make.