The old man hunched as he sat on his supple sofa, leaning closer to the fire, towards the heat, to save him from the bitter cold. The light from the fire illuminated his fatigued expression, as it melted away his weary skin. The man had stories to tell as experience pirouetted on his dry lips like a restless child. But yet, he remained silent, with his listless eyes just watching, not saying a word.
The reflection of the fire widened his ancient eyes, as he watched the world. His blue eyes and black corneas reminded me of blotches of ink splashed onto a blue canvas, with the ink dissolving into the deep blue that shimmered across his eye.
His blue eyes caught the beauty of deep oceans that brightened with the light of the luminescent moon, with his silky eyelashes like needles cautiously attached to his fragile skin, fluttering downwards whenever he blinked almost as it they were had a heart of their own , allowing them to breathe, slowly.
The fire then moved onto his grey beard, a sea of endless clouds which settled onto his putrid chin. His beard was as thick as gravy that straggled up his sunken cheeks like tender vines seeking sunlight, with each wisp of hair competing to reach the sides of his eyelashes. It was as If the fire burned the skin around his cheeks, forming a dense layer of ash on his powdery face.
A spark of fire suddenly jumped out of the hearth and made its way to the old man's forehead. A forehead that was deeply instilled with wrinkles that told a story of his burdening worries of the past. Small amounts of grey hair escaped from the brown Yorkshire woollen hat he wore, in search of light.
The spark of fire then plummeted past his unsteady neck, that teemed with creases which were crumpling his skin, like a plastic bag. This weak stem was slowly withering away along with life as it could not hold the burdening weight of age any longer. The leaves that grew from the sides of the old man's face had a cluster of grey hair sticking out, trying to inhale the fresh air that it desperately needed to cling onto life. His pale ears had turned deaf to the young world around him.
Suddenly, the old man hastily faced the side of his window. He heard clumps of snow flakes slushing onto the balcony floor, with each flake floundering and swirling from the whitened sky as it made its way to the cold concrete, where it rested calmly. His legs of wood resisted his weary body, as he sprang from his leather chair. He took a few steps towards the snow and held the celestial object in his hand.
His fingers slowly crumpled the soft snow as he clenched onto it, clenching onto life. He watched the dark night turn icy cold with his blue eyes curiously observing the free snowflakes moving through the dark night, as its sharp edges cut through the curtain of darkness that veiled the city of London. The man could only hope to be like the snowflake...young, free and restless.
Demiurge is an online platform open to all UWCSEA East students from Grades 5-12, where they can share and showcase their creative literary work.
The definition of 'demiurge' is 'a being responsible for the creation of the universe', and in Platonic philosophy, it means 'the creator of the world'. The name is a powerful symbol of how we can create our own worlds, particularly through fiction, and illustrates our belief that we are creating and changing different aspects of the world we live in through writing.
We welcome all kinds of literary submissions, from poems to flash-fiction to photos to theatre-scripts. Make a submission via our submission form.