Donkey

Here is a new short story I have written for the DMWorldCulture project about a terracotta donkey figurine.

Donkey

“What is that for?” The youth asked, staring at the terracotta figurine.

“A burial”

“But it is a donkey.”

“Yes.” The potter answered, clearing away their tools.

“Why did you make a donkey?”

“Is there a problem with making one?” A small smile slipped onto their face as they saw the youth thinking, their face scrunched in confusion.

“Father said people want to be buried with horses as it shows wealth and power.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. He said donkeys are common and even poor people can afford to keep them.” The potter could see the youth’s fingers reaching for the figurine, but pulling back at the last second. They remembered being that age, on the edge of youthhood teetering into adulthood but not quite ready for it yet. Where life is unsure and too many pathways split off into the unsteady ground.

Their eyes met.

“And what do you think?”

“I think they are similar, horses and donkeys. They do the same work but there is something about horses that is noble.”

“Do you know that to be true or is that something your father has told you.”

“It is what society says. Everyone has a donkey; therefore, they are not special. People want to be remembered for something good and noteworthy, not ordinary.”

The potter sat back on their stool, waiting a few moments before speaking again.

“So, you believe donkeys are unimportant?”

“Of course.” The youth scoffed, thinking their view on the matter should be obvious by now.

“Perhaps then, if they are so unimportant, we should get rid of all the donkeys and only use horses.”

“No.” The youth protested. “I said they were unimportant but they are still necessary.”

“Why?  Horses are capable enough to do the workload by themselves.”

“But the poor people cannot afford them. What would they do?”

“Does that matter? They are only poor. I am sure when they die there will be no horse figurines buried with them.”

“They are still people. They need donkey’s so they can provide for their families. If you take away the one thing that helps, then what are they to do?”

The youth stepped in front of the donkey figurine protecting it, as if the potter had now changed their mind, deemed it worthless and would destroy it.

“So, would you not say the donkey was important to the poor people then? Important enough to be buried with them.”

The youth went quiet, not knowing how to answer.

“To you,” the potter continued, “a donkey is common. You may even have a stable full of them. But like you have said, to another, it may be the only thing keeping their family from poverty.”

The potter was now standing in front of the youth, reaching for the donkey.

“It is not up to us to define what is important to others. Nor is it anyone else’s place to decide for us. What we need to do is to try and understand that we all have thoughts and opinions. That though you may think the horse is nobler than the donkey, it does not mean it is worth any less. The same as your father and the man I was making the figurine for. Just because your father is wealthy does not mean he is worth more than this poor man.”

The potter placed the donkey in the hands of the youth.

“We are all important in this world, though sometimes it appears people may forget that.”

The potter walked to the door. The youth was so caught up in what the potter had said that they hadn’t realised they were still holding the figurine until the potter had almost left the room.

“Oh, you have forgotten this.”

The potter stopped and turned back to face the youth.

“You may keep it, child.”

“What about the man you made this for?”

“I can always make another. But I hope that that donkey will help you to remember what we spoke about today.”

The youth smiled, clutching the donkey carefully to their chest.

“And maybe one day it may teach others about the value of importance.” The potter added smiling back at the youth.