The Promethean Child
by Carlos Roig, Sophomore, iPreparatory Academy
by Carlos Roig, Sophomore, iPreparatory Academy
The attic was old, the wood was primeval. Even with its age, life flourished within it. A single window was present, shining a cascade of healing light. A cricket sat chirping incessantly in the corner.
The Child stirred awake in the attic. They lay on the ground unsure of what to do. They could not see, they could not move, they could not feel, for they did not know how to. The cricket continued to chirp.
Eventually, after the time spent on the ground became sufficient, they made their first move. Their legs, once laid on their side, curled upward, allowing for their feet to make their first contact with the wood flooring. They pushed against the planks onto their stomach. They laid there again for some time. The cricket continued to chirp.
After The Child’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, they spotted a small splinter protruding from the grain of the wood. They reached for it, pricking themselves in the process. The Child held it in their hand. They began to feel a power surge through them, causing odd thoughts and intentions. The cricket continued to chirp.
One knee bent forward, the other pushed back against the surface. The Child crawled across to the corner, eyes wide open with curious and innocent malevolence. Their arm’s shadow rose above the insect. With one swift action, the cricket stopped chirping.
They sat in that spot, content with the killing. From time to time they reached for the cricket, poking, prodding, and nibbling it.
They continued until a pang of hunger hit them. In an instant they began to scan their surroundings, spotting a small rat. Like the cricket before it, the rat too was slain. One thing was different this time, The Child cut into it. They used the pointed fragment to tear apart, to pick at, and to dismember each part of the rat. This gross display of malevolent actions left The Child unfazed.
The Child stirred awake in the attic. They lay on the ground unsure of what to do. They could not see, they could not move, they could not feel, for they did not know how to. The cricket continued to chirp.
Eventually, after the time spent on the ground became sufficient, they made their first move. Their legs, once laid on their side, curled upward, allowing for their feet to make their first contact with the wood flooring. They pushed against the planks onto their stomach. They laid there again for some time. The cricket continued to chirp.
After The Child’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, they spotted a small splinter protruding from the grain of the wood. They reached for it, pricking themselves in the process. The Child held it in their hand. They began to feel a power surge through them, causing odd thoughts and intentions. The cricket continued to chirp.
One knee bent forward, the other pushed back against the surface. The Child crawled across to the corner, eyes wide open with curious and innocent malevolence. Their arm’s shadow rose above the insect. With one swift action, the cricket stopped chirping.
They sat in that spot, content with the killing. From time to time they reached for the cricket, poking, prodding, and nibbling it.
They continued until a pang of hunger hit them. In an instant they began to scan their surroundings, spotting a small rat. Like the cricket before it, the rat too was slain. One thing was different this time, The Child cut into it. They used the pointed fragment to tear apart, to pick at, and to dismember each part of the rat. This gross display of malevolent actions left The Child unfazed.
Time went on, and The Child continued to hunt, feasting on creatures whenever they felt a kick from their insatiable hunger. During an expedition across the room, they discovered an object that stumped them: a box. They played with it, poking and prodding the dusty cardboard. Eventually, they moved a flap, revealing a small part of the box’s contents.
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The Child reached inside, groping the walls, floor, and eventually what was kept within it. They pulled out a smaller box. At first, they were stumped by what they saw. Opening the box revealed several small sticks with colored ends. Both sides were rough. When they dragged their finger across one of them, they cried out in pain but continued to explore this new, wondrous object.
After some time of play and observation, The Child understood the function of the box that had kept it’s secrets for so long. A quick strike between the vibrant sticks and tough face caused intense flashes of light, like fireflies they launched themselves towards The Child’s face.
A quick burn singed their skin, and they cried out once more.
They sat staring at the glowing spark, an inch high. It began to slowly crawl towards their fingers. They knew what would happen if it was kept alight. It crept closer. The heat was now tangibly felt. Another second passed. Finally, the harsh sting of the flame was whipped onto the tips of their fingers, The Child yelped a final cry.
The flame in a sudden burst of brilliance caught onto the old flooring, the heat blazing across the room. The attic grew a scornful red, enraged by The Child’s actions. They laid down in a hushed sob.
The temperature continued to rise. The air burned, carbon once trapped within the wood released in a torrent. Drenched in flames they could not see, they could not move, they could not feel, for they did not care.
After some time of play and observation, The Child understood the function of the box that had kept it’s secrets for so long. A quick strike between the vibrant sticks and tough face caused intense flashes of light, like fireflies they launched themselves towards The Child’s face.
A quick burn singed their skin, and they cried out once more.
They sat staring at the glowing spark, an inch high. It began to slowly crawl towards their fingers. They knew what would happen if it was kept alight. It crept closer. The heat was now tangibly felt. Another second passed. Finally, the harsh sting of the flame was whipped onto the tips of their fingers, The Child yelped a final cry.
The flame in a sudden burst of brilliance caught onto the old flooring, the heat blazing across the room. The attic grew a scornful red, enraged by The Child’s actions. They laid down in a hushed sob.
The temperature continued to rise. The air burned, carbon once trapped within the wood released in a torrent. Drenched in flames they could not see, they could not move, they could not feel, for they did not care.
