Cracks in the Clay

In a gargantuan workshop, a titan fiddled with a figure of clay. He was hunched over at his workbench. It was night. Helios had given way to Selene, the beasts that populated the world had gone to sleep, and even the gods stopped watching the mortal world to close their eyes.

Yet even as the rest of the world had clocked in, one being refused to give up. 

Prometheus was still hard at work.

The titan that towered over the mortal world like a mountain had bags the size of boulders under his eyes. He had worked seventy days and seventy nights working. For that time, he had not left his workshop. Not to drink, not to eat, not to breathe in the fresh air, not to see the setting sun, not to watch the regrowing world.

He had worked in the way only an immortal being could: Endlessly. 

And in his hands was the project that had long frustrated him, his magnum opus that he could not fully realize.

A figure of clay.

It was small, much smaller than he, much smaller than the gods, much smaller than even the great beasts that populated the world. But despite its smallness, it was a work of art, one that he crafted with care and love. The titan had molded out of clay a sublime figure that put the beasts of the world to shame. Two arms, two legs, Two eyes, a nose with two nostrils, two ears. Five articulated fingers on each hand to grab and manipulate small objects and five toes on each foot to grip the floor. Eyes capable of seeing the distant mountains and the ants by their feet. And a mind with vast capabilities, one that would allow them to become the masters of the world. 

Yet Prometheus did not move from that bench to present his man to the gods, no, he simply stared down at the being in his hands. He’d made many and they were all lined up on his bench in neat rows. His task was complete, he’d created a new species to populate the ravaged lands, yet he did not move.

He fiddled with the figure of clay. He moved its arms and legs and tried to imagine its future. But no matter what, his mind always drifted to scenes of fire and blood. Of his beloved children crumbling into dust.

Suddenly, the titan twitched. Then, the ground shook as another came forth, entering the workshop of the titan. It was another who seemed so similar to Prometheus, yet one who could not be more different.

“How do you fare, my brother?” Epithemeus asked. The younger titan had a relaxed smile. There were small twigs in his hair, dirt on his skin, and Prometheus could see small animals on his brother’s shoulders. He probably didn’t even know they were there.

Prometheus didn’t move an inch from his bench as he said, “I am progressing smoothly.”

“Ah, that is great. I’ve long since finished my task. And my many creations now flourish! Walking the seas and swimming through the earth! Or, wait, was it the other way around?” Epimetheus had a smile that beamed with childish pride. He had always been like that. “I know you are busy with your work, but perhaps you would like to see some of my creations?”

Prometheus, whose body had formed a layer of dust and grime from staying still for so long, let out a sigh. “Very well, perhaps that is for the best.” He said, turning to face his brother.

“Yes, yes, now, I present to you the platypus!” Epimetheus opened his hands to reveal a small creature on his palm. It was a confusing thing. It had the fur of beasts, but the bill of a duck. Its legs had poisonous barbs, it oozed milk from its skin, and it laid eggs. Prometheus was befuddled as he stared at the strange thing.

“What is this?” He asked.

“A platypus!” Epithemeus said, unaware of how much he’d confused his brother.

“May I ask what brought you to make this animal this way?” Prometheus asked.

“You know my memory fails me often, my brother,” Epithemeus said, laughing jovially. “But I am proud to say it is my creation.”

“I see.” Prometheus nodded and sighed again. “Yes, I suppose that is fine. You have done well, brother.”

“Can I see what you’ve been working on?” Epithemeus tried looking over his brother’s shoulder, curiosity burning like a fire in his eyes.

Prometheus, who just a moment before neglected his figures of clay, suddenly covered them like a ravenous lion would a fresh carcass. “No,” He said. “I am not yet finished with them, they are not yet perfect.”

Epimetheus tried to circumvent the barrier that was Prometheus’ body, but ultimately gave up. “My brother, what is it that bothers you? Though you have time aplenty, the gods are impatient, and truthfully speaking, I am as well. We wish to know what it is that you will create.”

Prometheus would’ve normally dismissed such inquiries, but the one asking him was his brother, his younger brother whom he was quite fond of. After a moment of deliberation, Prometheus said, “I am quite dissatisfied with my creation, brother, for I cannot find a remedy for what ails it.”

“I see, I see.” Epithemeus nodded, rubbing his chin. “May I see it? After all, a second set of eyes may grant new regulations.” He paused, then corrected himself. “Revelations.” 

Prometheus considered the offer and eventually saw the wisdom in it. “Very well, here, look.” He showed his brother the clay human form. The younger brother marveled over it, admiring its small and intricate details.

“I see no reason to delay! But I admit your eyes are better than mine, what fatal flaw does it possess?”

“There is a small crack somewhere within it, yet I cannot see its location. No matter how many times I make and remake it, it never goes away.” Prometheus’s eyes were red and weary, tired of scrutinizing the same thing over and over again.

Epithemeus, unaware of the invisible weight Prometheus bore, innocently suggested, “My brother, perhaps you should ignore that sense in you and present your creation to the gods.”

“But they had tasked me with creating creatures in their image. How could I halt before I perfect their form?” Prometheus asked. 

“If they wished for perfection, the gods would’ve simply created more of themselves to dope-no, dote-on. Just as the reflection of the sun in a pond is not the sun itself, these beings cannot hope to be perfect,” Epithemeus said.

Prometheus sighed. “I cannot follow such a reckless course of action. I am not you, brother, I prefer to think before I move.”

“And in doing so, you do nothing,” Epithemeus quipped as he continued to inspect the man of clay.

“Because I must make the perfect move,” Prometheus replied, heat growing in his voice. “I see the consequences of my every action. If I release this imperfect version of man, what shall occur? Will this crack lead to catastrophe? Will that crack cause my beloved creations to their own destruction? What shall happen?”

“You are so hung up on these hypotheticals, the what-ifs haunt you so. But what point is there in it?”

“Because you do the exact opposite, you never think before you act,” Prometheus growled. “I’ve been the one saving you since the beginning of our existence. You almost died because you wished to ally yourself with Kronos before I could warn you that we would be better off with the Olympians. And even now, you have haphazardly created and distributed bizarre and ill-thought out creatures, creatures that are sure to die in droves due to your lack of consideration.”

Epimetheus’ eyes went wide in shock. But, instead of anger, he saw how tired his brother was. He saw how red his eyes were, how sluggishly he moved his body. Then, he inquired, “Do you know why I occasionally win our games, my brother?”

Prometheus, boiling with anger, grumbled, “Why?”

“Because when it comes to races or hunts, you spend eternities considering the possibilities. Meanwhile, I act. More often than not, I fall flat on my face due to my foolishness, but occasionally, my hastiness serves me well. And thanks to that, my speed triumphs your wariness.”

“And what is your point?” Prometheus asked.

“My point is that in time you may create the most glorious being to walk under the heavens. Perhaps, in time, you shall make a being that will outshine all of my creations. But no matter what, the most ill-thought-out creation of mine will triumph over your perfect being. Do you know why? It is because mine exists and walks the earth, while yours is but an idea in your head. So give up on perfection and make something you can be happy with. If it crumbles under its own weight, so be it, let it. Simply observe its failure and learn from it. It is what I do so often.”

Prometheus stared at his brother, shocked at the sudden display of wisdom. Prometheus, so worn down by the days and nights he’d spent working, was astonished that he had ignored such common wisdom.

Prometheus laughed. “Yes, perhaps that is for the best. I shall bring this new species to the gods quickly.” He smiled as he looked at his own creation, not to search for its flaws, but to admire it for its finer qualities. “Yes, perhaps my worries will be abated when I see them imbued with life.”

“Great!” Epithemeus said.

Prometheus stared at his beloved man and smiled. It was a soft smile, a smile that radiated warmth. He ran his fingers through his clay-stained beard and admired his new species. “I must confess, I still worry, even now. I fear that they hide a fracture deep within them.”

“They might.” Epithemeus shrugged. “But would it not be grand to watch your children walk the earth at last?”

“Yes, yes it would.”

So, Prometheus brought his children to the gods and watched as they were imbued with life. He watched them as they took their first steps and spoke their first words. He watched as they learned to read and write. He watched as they built grand farms and temples and palaces and cities. He watched as they grew up, grew old, and died. 

He watched as his greatest fears came to be. He watched as they, using their gift of fire, slaughtered each other en masse. He watched as they were corrupted by hate, by fear, and by pride. 

But, as imperfect as they were, Prometheus could not help but smile upon mankind. As flawed and foolish as they were, they were his greatest creation, cracks and all.