Filius

A kaleidoscope of soft shades of blue decorates the walls of a room, serene creations dangle from the ceiling and chime a playful note every time they are caressed by a breeze from the open window on the North wall.

The infant, in all his infinite knowledge, sits awkwardly in the middle of it all, atop a blanket with patterns meant only to soothe, its pudgy skin folding neatly on top of itself like never used play-dough. He mumbles to himself in a tongue not even he understands and immerses himself with objects that mean nothing as of yet, but the constant frustration of inability to express oneself leaves him with no choice, as even at the tender age of newborn the necessity to create as created is vivid and inescapable in all living things.

Mother Nature sends her compliments to the child, in the form of a bird that bears the color of love, and it perches gently atop the pallas of the open window, staring half-curiously inside at this clumsy ball of happiness, though it could not even begin to understand what it was witnessing on the ground next to the boy. Another gentle gust rolls by and the chimes make the boy laugh in the sincerest of ways. It’s a thing of awe, a child’s laugh; a joy of the little things, so unfiltered and so uninhibited, it spreads into the cosmos without even a hint of burden and it splashes bright colors on a blank canvas. It is an incorporeal wealth most, if not all, lose somewhere along the way without even realizing.

Footsteps interrupt this wondrous ritual, as two figures begin to resolve into focus. “There’s my beautiful baby boy, my Filius.” A soft but firm grasp clenches either side of him and with a little help from tunnel vision the boy feels like he has teleported to the skies. His face meets that of his mother and father, welcoming visages complimented by laughter, one of the few stimuli the boy reacts to as clear as the day outside. His mother takes him to the window, near the beautiful avian spectator, but it flees as quickly as it came, as the boy’s curiosity overwhelms him and he attempts to grab it.

“Honey” Tuuq exclaims! “Our boy has already completed his first creation, and only at such an infantile state, he must be a genius!”

Norrah turns away from the window and directs her attention to the ground, directly behind where her boy was playing just moments ago. The parents are overwhelmed at their newborn’s affinity for creating, even at such a young age. Norrah places the boy down gently and they both approach the emerald and verdant sphere, their eyes glowing with excitement.

As they inch closer, the sphere unfurls into an exponentially increasing amount of detail; blazing rocks and streams of clear liquid, but the most bedazzling of all: sentience. A myriad of living beings of all shapes and sizes performing an unimaginable variety of tasks is revealed, some interacting with others and some happy to just be, while others were plunged into what could only be described as chaos. Two proud parents turn to their child, barely able to contain their overflowing joy.

Norrah caresses her son’s glistening cheeks; “it’s his first creation, they will eventually become more refined, but I can’t believe he’s completed one so young.”

“What shall we call it?”

“How about… Earth?”

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