Bling Bling 101

What did he do? What did he do wrong? He did get a little too curious for his own good. Bread knew that. But why was Dad so obsessed with hiding his job? Was it that bad? Or was it embarrassing?

It doesn’t matter! None of it did. He was going to make things right. He was going to make Dad feel better.

He thought for a moment. How was he going to make Dad feel better though? He scoured his records for anything. No, wait. This wasn’t the right course of action. He had learned to think deeply, didn’t he? He couldn’t keep relying on his inner records for all the answers. He had to come up with a solution for himself.

But what?

He stared at the mound of clay in the corner next to the table. What did he have to do? Wait… Mound of clay? He looked a little closer. The sculpting materials and all the tools were also there. Dad hadn’t taken these away with him? Then an idea struck him—

A gift!

It was perfect! He’d make a present with the clay! Dad had said so himself. He thought highly of creative thought… He did, right? And Dad was also a painter! Surely, he’d be proud if he made him something artistic! If he created something that was out of this world, he was confident it’d make him feel better! But what would he make? He peered over at the chains…

Necklace? Would that be best? No, stop overthinking things! Necklace! He was going to make a necklace. He scrambled over and ripped open the bag of clay. It smelled unnatural. Like chemicals. But it didn’t matter!

Time to get to work.

Bread had an idea for what chain he’d use as a cord. From the hundreds tangled together, he pulled one out. It was boxy and snake-thin. And it matched well with Dad’s attire—a gunmetal finish.

Now, he needed to make some sort of pendant for the chain to hold. But what would the pendant have to be for it to be considered creative? There were a lot of things he had learned from Dad that morning. Something about trees, empathy, love… Love? He loved boxing. Would Dad say something if he used boxing as a source of his creativity? He wouldn’t, right? Dad would praise him for being extra creative and extra thoughtful!

He decided to use boxing gloves as a reference. There were small capsules of paint available too. He could use that later to add more detail. It was perfect! All he had to do now was mold the shape of the gloves… But ordinary boxing gloves didn’t feel all that creative or artistic. He had to make something that would make him feel something. Like before. They couldn’t be simple.

Should he shape them into some kind of geometric form? Something artistic… A heart maybe? To signify love? Perfect! If he mushed two boxing gloves together, it would make the shape of a heart! He knew his inner records would come in handy. And now the gloves felt special too.

He pushed his hands into the soft clay and stretched out a hefty chunk. Then he tore off a smaller piece and got to work. He started shaping the lump into a boxing glove, but he couldn’t get the details to show. His fingers were too round.

Something thinner. He needed something sharp! But what? He peered inside the tray of random materials. And he found it. Toothpicks! He grabbed one and quickly poked away at his work in progress. It made the perfect creases!

He grinded away the excess clay, and the blob finally started to take realistic shape. Then he rounded the top and hollowed out the area that was supposed to fit the hand. But—

It didn’t look right. Something felt off…

Was it the metal? Or the shape of the gloves? It just didn’t look round enough. Or creative. His mind suddenly started to race…

Images of boxing gloves, from old to new, sped past. A slideshow of evolutionary changes. From bare fists, to small bands… A gladiatorial cestus… Stop! He found it. The perfect combination of style and spunk. Right there…

The lace-up gloves from the early 21st century… Perfect. This was it.

He immediately got back to work. He reimagined the knots and braids on the palm side of the glove and imprinted the details into the clay. He shaped the rounded mitt and the area around the thumb. Then the glove itself… Already, the clay was starting to harden. It was getting more and more difficult to stretch and mold.

Bread worked faster. He pulled a little at the bottom to lengthen the glove. And he gave it a handle to pull the chain through. Then he prodded a little inside the glove to buff up the size, chipping off the excess for a lighter and more well-rounded opening. And finally, he was done.

With only the left hand. Now, onto the next one.

The second one was easier to make. He’d already had some experience by now. All he had to do was create the same exact glove but flipped. The thumb would be on the other side. And this time, he moved faster. Before the clay molded solid. He dexterously moved his fingers around, shaping the glove into reality. He scratched out the details with his toothpick. He was almost there. Just form the lace patterns again. And…

Done!

All he had to do now was smoosh them together.

But it did look a little bland. They were just two gloves that were stuck together after all. It wasn’t creative enough! But how could he improve this even further?

Suddenly, instinct took over. He grabbed another chunk of clay and started to flatten it out thin. Then he pulled at the ends to elongate it as much as possible. He was going to make the boxing wraps athletes used to protect their wrists. He’d use that to wrap the two gloves together like a mummy. It didn’t look pretty, but he thought it was artistic. More chaotic.

Just like that war painting.

Then after drying it all out, he painted the gloves in red and gold. He thought the colors looked nice. One reminded him of fire and the other reminded him of gold. On second thought, the gold wasn’t all that creative, but it was shiny and metallic; he liked the sparkle.

Once the paint was also dry, he attached the rough, somewhat bumpy clay pendant onto the black chain. And Bread finally admired his first creative piece.

“Ugh…” His nose creased. And his eyebrows furrowed. Because his work of art—

It definitely needed more work.