This week I have another piece from my Arvon writing course for you, the instructions were…
Write a piece of historical fiction. Include the objects given. Choose a voice and write as if you knew this ‘time’.
Objects: A Pencil and a Battery.
I watch the old man as he works, pencil moving fast across the parchment, he flicks his course, thick beard over his shoulder when it gets in the way as he creates another design.
The workshop is cool as he sits in front of the wooden easel. Our linen robes protect us from the breeze coming through the open light giving holes in the stone walls.
I am charged with collecting materials from the merchants in the market. But, while he draws I watch from the haybed in the corner. With scraps of discarded parchment and a chalkstone I try to design myself, hoping one day to create something better than the objects my master creates.
Most often he will construct things from wood and animal skin, to bring his ideas to life. None of them seem to be of much use, a structure like the wings of birds and a contraption that produces hot water plumes he calls ‘steam’. This latest design is called a ‘battery’ a move away from wooden structures. Master’s creation contains metal, formed and shaped, he talks of the heat of the sun and water giving power to things.
It just seems like another thing that will end up cluttering the bottom of the workshop to me, maybe he should try to make something people might actually want to use?
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