Essay on "if I were a toy maker"
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The Toy Maker
THE TOY MAKER
No one knew of his name, no one knew who he was. The only thing that guided their information was a slew of rumors that were out-standing for a very long time. The eldest in town knew hardly anything of him. Only that he was abandoned at a young age.
The facts were of his father, a toy maker, died of Leukemia. This left him, the son: a piece of land that hosted trees, a cotton field, a small river, and a castle-like tower, which this is where he and his father resided. At the people’s guess, the son was not much older than six. For when the father died, a small boy could be heard in the distance. Yet the boy was a mute. His father was too busy in order to be teaching him the English language.
The people heard him for many days and many nights, until slowly, the nights were silenced. Many years passed as the children of the Old Toy Maker, entered into adulthood. They had children of their own and many of which were in extreme poverty. The streets where were once filled with happiness which was now filled with depression, a deep and highly unforgiving grim appearance. Among this, the Toy Maker lurked.
The Toy Maker walked hunched slightly over, his body was straight. Although they say that it was from the hours and days, hunched over a table creating all sorts of contraptions. His leather apron was notorious for having various amounts and types of stains. His sleeves were rolled back and past his elbows. He wore a choice of either black or brown corduroys with black shoes. His hair was of a shaggy brown mane. This gave him the air of an unwanted misfit. Correctly speaking, he was.
He stayed amongst his tower for most of his life and hardly ever wandered among the grounds of outside his tower, unless if it was needed. Which was mostly a few times every month; the people depended on him to fix things around or inside their homes. Only on his land is where he naturally roamed. Amongst his woods to make chairs and tables for children or a pull toy of various proportions. Perhaps his cotton fields and massive amounts of cotton quantities became a teddy bear. Or threads stuffed to the edges in the forming of a blanket. He was quite a generous person of no words. Yet it brought questions when the police had to shoot him in the back of the head which killed him on Christmas Day.
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