The small, black droplet sat there. The rest of the space was still of course white, but now an ugly little black splat occupied a portion of the ground.
The ink spot was greatly different than the surround space. Blacker than any darkness, blacker than the blackest black hole. But so small and insignificant among the whiteness around it.
After a few moments of time, the little spot began to move. First a little shimmy. Then a little shake. A little shimmy. Moving ever so slightly, it jiggled.
The movements quickened. Shaking as if an earthquake was happening. Left, right, left, right, left, right it continuously shook. The ugly little spot danced up and down. It moved like it was doing the tango, spinning like a ballerina, and prancing ever so gracefully, if a black spot could be considered graceful.
Then it suddenly stopped. A random limb like structure jutted out from one of its sides. Then another from the opposite. And two more below. The limbs extended further and further.
At the end of each limb even more sprouted. The strange figure continued to grow outward until it stopped. A small circular extension popped out from the top.
The ugly little spot had taken the form of a man. A regular person with two arms, two legs, a body, a head, fingers, and toes. There were no details of, well, anything. The hair (if it had any) simply blended into where a face should be. Any clothing was only seen when it swayed side to side.
The ugly spot had changed, and it knew it. Though the ugly spot had changed, it was still awfully ugly. However, the spot had no cares.
The spot accepted that being an ugly silhouette of man was better than being an ugly, pitiful spot.
YOU ARE READING
The Ink Man
General FictionIn the beginning there was nothing but white. How boring. Everywhere you looked. Up, down, left, right, forward, back. White as starlight, as a full moon, as the coldest snow. Barren and empty. Then the first ink droplet fell.
