Third Leg Studios

Third Leg Studios: The Burden of Genius

It’s raining. The boys are sitting at the editing desk. It has been several days since they’ve spoken. The pitter-patter of the rain outside and the ticking of Nan’s clock are the only sounds I can hear. It pains me to say it but things have taken a dark turn at Third Leg Studios. The boys have received some flattering comments recently and their egos have inflated to such a degree that each member now refuses to waste his words on the others.

Tel has his feet up on the table and is drinking from one of Nan’s fine bone china mugs. He knows he’s not allowed to use the fine bone china. He’s been told many times. But he doesn’t care. He stinks of arrogance. Joel winces every time the fine bone china is placed precariously on the edge of the table. Tel knows he’s annoyed. He likes that he’s annoyed. It gives him a kick.

The clock ticks interminably. Whelan can’t take it any more. He gets up and moves aggressively towards the clock on the wall. The boys know what he’s about to do. They don’t agree with it, they hate him, but they can’t help but admire his decisiveness. I’ve been with the boys long enough to predict the outcome of this situation. Usually I gaze on impassively; my job is to observe, not to intervene, but I can’t help myself. I blurt out, “That’s Nan’s clock. For Christ’s sake, have some respect!”

Silence. Whelan takes the clock off the wall and breaks it over his knee. The ticking stops. Whelan sits back down and they continue to edit their latest video. Joel is sad to see more of his Nan’s possessions reduced to rubble but deep down he understands that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The world is a dark, painful, humourless place and if it wasn’t for the incessant work of the boys at Third Leg Studios it would be a world entirely devoid of laughter. The boys carry this heavy burden with willing shoulders and each understands that sacrifices must be made.

Even Nan understands. The expression on her face as she sweeps up the shards of her shattered clock isn’t one of anger or even annoyance. It is one of pride. Looking at her now I can safely say that she wouldn’t have things any other way.

I regret my outburst. I can’t for one second imagine the creative pressure the boys are under and every day I spend with them fills me with just that little bit more awe. They are brave, they are beautiful, they are all that is right with the world.

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