Disclaimer: The professor created him, I just briefly imagined him as a child.
Author's Note: For the 'Dust' challenge. A little childhood scene from more peaceful times. I leave you to decide who liked to play in the dirt as a boy.
The dust flowed between his small fingers like a river. Sprinkling water he began to build, here a lumpen keep and there a low wall. As the moisture faded the clay was dust again, the keep felled and walls breached by a gentle breeze.
“Mother, what is dust made from? Father says that we are all made of dust, but what makes the dust?”
She smiled down at her son and crouched to feel the dust at her feet, her fingers playing in its eddies and flows.
“Music, my jewel. The dust is made from music, as all things are.”