Literature
The cloudmaker
It was on a particularly cloudy day that I created another life. You sprung from my hands, eager, like a lamb frolicking through a grassy meadow. An accident. I had been trying to create a tornado, but my hand must've twitched. The gray of my walls only accentuated your glowing golden form further; vaguely shaped like a human child, but not quite. A highly misleading appearance. I remember my first thought: Not another one. I'd made your kind before. It never ended well.
“Nice to meet you,” you said, sticking out your hand. “It's awfully gloomy outside.”
I shook it. “The earth looked a little dry today.”