The Youngest of Five.

            El worked away at his painting, his brush strokes confident and clean. The people walking by took little notice to him, aside from the odd one out who was entranced by his abilities.

            “I wish I had your ability,” they would say. “What I would give to draw” El knew it was in them; art is in everyone, they just hadn’t found it yet. And if any of these people knew El for who he really was, they would all believe him. 

            El was born the third son and fifth child to a field of daises, his mother, and a storm cloud, his father. Though his father didn’t stick around long, he would show up from time to time.

            His brothers and sisters were all like he was, talented at whatever they wanted to be. Rim the eldest sister and child would say they were Gods, but El felt they were just privileged.

            The clouds had been growing darker all day and now they were starting to give way. A drop of water landed on El’s cheek, so he looked up and smiled a greeting to his father.

He put away his painting and started walking down the road. The rain poured down around him, each drop was a whisper in his ear.

            “Son I have bad news” His father said. “It’s about Mi, he has run away.”

Mi was the third child and the second son, he was fond of being things; trees, rocks, radio waves, lighting, you name it he was it at some point.

            “You’re probably over reacting father, last I heard he was trying out being a church.” He used his most comforting voice, their father was always quick to think something was wrong and this time was probably no different.

            “Son, I’ve looked at all the churches, and all the mausoleums, and even personal alters. And then I looked for him in everything else.” His fathers voice had worry in it, and his clouds were letting light through here and there. “I have spent five days traveling around the world; looking, searching, seeking. He has gone El. He has gone.”

His fathers rain began to slow, El’s body was now drenched. El realised he had been standing at the street corner, appearing to mumble to himself for some time now.

“Pleas El,” his father said quietly as he left “look for Mi. he may be in danger.”

The End

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