Creationism

     She took the clay into her hands and rolled it around. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could feel the imperfections in the little sphere, but she would never think to smooth them out. It was the little things that gave each of her creations character.

     This particular ball gave way to spiky tips and deep depressions. She held it up and blew on it to speed its drying. When it was ready, she brought out the paints. The low parts became blue and fluid, and the spiky places turned gray. But she didn't stop there. The in between places were painted green and brown, and she came away a little and painted white puffy shapes. And then she waited.

     For a long time, nothing happened. Then there was movement, but still she was disappointed. This one didn't glow the way some of her creations did. She moved in for a closer look at the globe. Perhaps she could figure out what had gone wrong.

     What she found was a disaster. The skies rained bits of diamond and drops of acid. The seas had turned a poisonous shade of green. Disgusted, she pulled away from the globe and cast it away.

     It comforted her that her latest creation made a graceful arc on its way to join the others. Even through her anger, she hoped it would find a comfortable orbit with a long-lived star. She shouldn't have been disappointed, really. So few of her creations ever sprouted life. All she could do was pick up another handful of clay and start again.