The Bronze Pouring

 We watched the white and silver clad casters ready themselves to pour the bronze into the waiting rectangles of plaster and wax. At the opposite end of the cold warehouse, a green fire blazed at the mouth of the furnace where the bronze was liquified, far down under the earth. Black smoke and the rapid movement of the chain obfuscated what was happening across the warehouse, keeping us in suspense. The excitement of the teacher hadn't left any time for him to explain what would happen, but the bronze announced it's own arrival and commanded the attention of the students. 
           The bucket suspended on the chain was a glowing neon orange pitcher whose brightness magnified the small black cracks on it's body. The bucket of bronze was cranked down and we saw the casters remove the impurities. Briquettes of black and orange were turned out with a shovel, whose tip was soon infected with the orange heat. The chain clanked again as the casters moved the pitcher forward and they used gloves and metal clamps to direct the bronze into the castings. The radiant stream of magma disappeared into the hole then resurfaced to glow faintly at the top of the casting. The light left splotchy colors pulsing behind my closed eyes, like I had stared at the afternoon sun. 

When it ended the chain and bucket moved to the back wall. Casters poured the remaining bronze into a small brick mould. The burning heat dimmed from the now empty pitcher. It darkened to an ashen black at the base until the light faded from the rim as well.