It was his last day at the foundry.

He looked around. Sighed. He was tired. Tired of casting metals, tired of giving them shapes, tired of the fire, the heat, the strain of the job.

He took a few steps towards the exit, stopped and looked back one last time. This is the place where he has spent decades casting metals, giving them shapes, sizes, turning them into whole objects to be used.

Would the world call him an artist for that? Does spending the better part of your life metalworking make you an artist?

“Hardly!” He thought to himself, chuckling.

Then left the Foundryman. The metalworking is now passed on to younger, more capable hands. But, only he knew that the art he created every day, won’t be created at the foundry again, not for a long time.


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