Prompt 55 - In the Hands of the Blacksmith

The blacksmith compresses the billows and the dim coals of the forge come to life. He puts on his gloves and cloak. His tools are right where he left them. Unmoved, they sit neatly right next to the anvil. The blacksmith retrieves a bent metal shaft from a neighboring scrap shelf. The metal parts and pieces look rusty and old. They are misshapen and broken, unusable in their current state. The blacksmith doesn't see them as old or broken, however. He sees potential.

The blacksmith nestles the old metal rod under the hot charcoal. The fire burns brightly. It is almost hypnotizing as it shifts and flickers, heating the metal rod burrowed inside its heart. The fire purifies. It make the metal soft, malleable, moldable, changeable. The blacksmith carefully pulls the red hot metal rod from the furnace and goes to work.

Striking the iron over and over he begins to shape the once hard and rigid alloy. The hammer pummels the rod over and over. The blacksmith wipes his soot covered brow and slides the rod back into the fire. He does this over and over, compressing the billows; heating the furnace, molding the iron. He forces his will upon the metal rod, a specific purpose in mind.

Like a conductor, he crafts the rod according to his own vision. His anvil, his hammer, his tongs, his forge; all his instruments. Like the metal rod here and now, these tool had already bent. They had already been shaped and molded by the blacksmith. Once resistant and cold, the fire had made them pliable and weak. But the blacksmith folded them over and over, strengthening them again. Now stronger. Now they were merely an extension of the blacksmiths creativity. Once on the scrap shelf, now with a purpose.

The newly fashioned metal, red hot from the burning coals is plunged into a vat of cooled water. A billowy plume of steam pours out, clouding the air, as the water bubbles and hisses. The steel hardens, its final shape solidified. Shaped by the blacksmith, its purpose sealed. A tool. The blacksmith smiles and sets his newest creation down on the table. Down next to his anvil, his hammer, his tongs, his forge. Once on the scrap shelf, now in the hands of the blacksmith.