You sit in luxurious silence at a bench in a cluttered workshop. In your right hand is a yellow pencil and a scrap of frayed notepaper sits empty in front of you.

As you look around you see the small and somewhat dusty workshop is filled with wooden creatures of many forms, placed proudly on handmade misshapen wooden shelves. Bees, butterflies, doves, even what looks like a crocodile and a tiger. An unusual collection you think, wondering who dreamt all this up.

As your hand grips the pencil, you notice you are itching to draw and so you conclude that you are in-fact the artist and creator perhaps of these creatures. That makes you rather proud, as they appear to have been made by a skilled craftsman, of considerable talent. How wonderful.

Your hand begins to move across the page and outlines appear. It’s a body of some form. You feel a spark of an idea forming in your minds eye and you see fluttering iridescent wings.

That’s one of the key elements you think, wings. Beautiful wings so that my creature can fly. Wouldn’t those we wonderful.

This gives you a warm glow in your stomach. So warm, that you look down and note that you are wearing emerald green, overalls. They look new, and beautifully clean. I must be a very successful artist you think to yourself. All these beautiful creatures I’ve created and look at my overalls. I’m dressed like a king of creators.

The door moves, you jump in shock. A woman appears, not looking too happy. “what are you doing now” she asks ? Are you wasting your time making more creatures? I don’t understand, why you waste your time making these stupid things. You could be doing something useful.

Your heart sinks rapidly. The warm glow diminishes in your belly and suddenly you feel extraordinarily tired, as if all the energy in your body has been sucked right out of you.

You decide to remain quiet and force a smile. She does not look like she wants you to answer back. There is no point in reacting. She’s obviously is not interested in your creations. Why would someone be so mean you think? They are not doing any harm to her.

Perhaps they come alive at night and cause terrible mischief, perhaps that is the reason she’s rejecting them so viciously. She’s scared that they might overpower her while she’s sleeping. You chuckle at that.

————-

Out of the window is a beautiful pond, with flowing water, cascading down a mini waterfall, made of delicately balanced rocks. You had not noticed the gentle undulating noise before, but it adds a pleasant watery rhythm and calms your turbulent stomach. The warm sun like glow has gone now and all that’s left is a churning and whirring feeling, which leaves an uncomfortable unease.

————-

A dragonfly finds it’s way in and settles on the far corner of your bench, a good metre or so away.

“Why don’t you make me” it utters?

“Make you, you ask?”

“Yes, make a creature just like me ?” A majestic dragonfly. Ruler of the mighty pond.

“And why would I do that”? You ask, the dragonfly, with the obviously inflated ego.

“Why not?” He answers

“Well looking around here, at all these creatures on the shelves, it looks like this is a workshop of rejections, not a workshop of creations, so why should I engineer more?” You say almost under your breath, as it pains you so much.

“Who are you making them for”, the dragonfly asks?”You think for a moment, and realise that you don’t know the answer to this.

“Who are they for ?” the dragonfly asks again

You fall silent, you really don’t know the answer, and you feel so tired and so so terribly sad. The unease has filled your stomach, and seeped up into your throat. You feel tears pricking your eyes. You are holding back, as hard as you can, as you have no desire to cry in front of an arrogant dragonfly or that tyrannical woman.

————-

“Make a wish”,  the dragonfly says

You tell him you don’t have a wish, you feel too sad to have wishes. Your energy has left you and your glow has gone.

“Well, then” says the dragonfly. “Why not ask for your glow to come back ? Where was this glow anyway?” He says hovering gently in front of you.

“In my stomach” you say, “right above my navel. It was so marvellous; it brightened up my whole body and made me feel wonderful, like the King of the creators.”

The dragonfly sighed, in a somewhat irritating manner.

“I don’t wish to state the obvious, so forgive me if I’m being direct, but that glow is yours. It’s your own. I can wish it back for you, but you can actually do it yourself.”

“Really”, you ask him? “How? “

“Well I told you the answer earlier, but you weren’t listening, so I will tell you again.”

“Create me and do it for you. Design me, selecting my wood, carve me, and find the magic material that will create my beautiful iridescent wings. Breathe life into me with your will and place me on the shelf next to your other creature creations. That’s how you get your glow back.”

“Remember this he adds, “This is not the workshop of rejected creatures. This is the workshop of dreams that become your creations. You are indeed the King of creations. These creatures owe their life to you, don’t forget that”.