Within the Sands of Time

As the blade came down upon the bull’s squat form, its short plastic life came to a swift end. First the head, then the legs were separated from the body, which was quickly discarded, lost to the bins of time. When the parts were sorted, another victim took its place. This time it was a topless gentleman who made his way to the chopping block, the synthetic substance that made up his form glinting in the morning sun. The top and bottom were removed in much the same fashion as with the bull before him, however, for this individual it was the torso and arms that remained, while the other parts made peace with the gods.

The time was nigh. Soon the long dormant mythical creature of ancient legends and children’s fairy tales would rise again. What would its first act be upon its return to this mortal realm? Would it break free and go on a rampage seeking revenge against those who had wronged it? Would it struggle against a set of chains, binding it in place? Would it wander through corridors, lost and alone? Only time would tell.

As the adhesive filled the cracks, separating man from beast, the young creator’s attention was drawn to other things. Filling the cart with branches, blocks and stones, they made their way towards the desert sands of the wide wooden box. Piece by piece they built a labyrinth to house their creature. After all, what would a mighty minotaur be without their maze?

When the sealant had finally set, the child marvelled at their creation. It looked just like the one from the story books. With a clumsy hand shifting back and forth, they marched the minotaur over to his complex home of terrible twists and turns; enough to stump any child’s toy. They tossed the minotaur into the centre with pride, then stepped back to see what should come next.

As they pondered their possible course of action, a high dark shadow its place looming over them. A sharp inhale of breath behind them served as a reminder and as a warning. Perhaps asking first would have been a good first step. They slowly turn and raise their head to see the somewhat tortured expression on their parent’s face.

Okay, there’s only one way out of this. Turn on the charm.

“Look what I made!” the child cried with an excited grin, “It’s for you. I made it just like your favourite story. Do you like it?”

The pained expression spread across the parent’s face as they processed the sight before them. They didn’t speak until they had somehow managed to regain a little composure, the age old, popular phrase ‘kids will be kids’ running through their head like some kind of twisted affirmation. Eventually, their breath steadied and they were able to form words without too strangled a tone.

“It’s very creative darling and I think you’ve done a very good job with it, but you are not to use kitchen knives for craft, or at all without asking. You could have been hurt.” They look towards the broken toys, “I won’t be buying you any new toys to replace these ones. What you have now is what you have. Understand?”

“I understand.” The child swears, with all the seriousness they can muster, “But do you like it?”

The parent sighs as they pick up the still stray knife, “Yes, I like it. Don’t do it again.”

The pair parted ways with the grown up returning to their makeshift workspace inside and the child to their playthings. Though their priorities and opinions differed, both continued on with their day, content in the knowledge that they were loved.

As Robert Eliot coined all that time ago, ‘Don’t sweat the small stuff’.

The mighty minotaur stood proud within its fortress and the question of what he would do upon his resurrection was about to be answered. As he looked around the central room, the minotaur roared loudly, crying out for a friend. He was lonely, but he was also lucky. The unicorn, ducky and superhero heard his call and came to help. They joined him in his chamber and had a party, complete with sandy mud cake and slime. The new friends played together forever; forever being lunch time.