There was a glass of water set before him. Its fullness or emptiness was not relevant; in fact, the existence of its contents could be brought into question if not for the prickling coolness that yet enveloped the mouth of the man. The muted bell-like tones of the ice against the glass filled the silent room, bouncing from wall to wall as the man lifted it again to his lips and drank. The fluid poured over his lips, cooling the tongue and quenching the senses. It was a marvelous feeling. The man looked over the glass’s rim, still clasped in his hand, to the spread of tools arrayed before him. His eyes flashed from object to object, wondering if any had been moved and if he had been the one to move them. He looked, then, to another table beyond the desk lamp’s globe of light where he knew his materials lay waiting. He massaged his ever-tired eyes with long fingers. It was time to work. Standing, the man took measured steps toward the darkened table, counting the distance away silently. Five steps, then four, now three. He collected the necessities, slicing accordingly. Carrying it back to the lighted work table, his fingers slowly sank into the doughy mass. Unconsciously, he kneaded it, worming deeper and deeper. Then, sudden release. It slid from his digits and onto the work surface, ready for transformation. The lamp’s beams glanced sweepingly off the red clay. An artist, then. The man was an artist. It was always in that sight that he found himself reaffirmed. The chair dragged through the familiar ruts of the shop floor, pulling away empty and returning with a passenger. He took another drink from the glass. His eyes cracked open and he set on the endeavour. The red clay smeared across his fingers as it was flattened and shaped, squeezing it through and through. It was a sphere, a pillar, a cube. Settling on a form, he selected a blade from the collection. He ran it across his thumb, pressing the glinting steel into old scars. The crimson of his blood mingled with the mesa shade of the clay, tinging the air with copper. The artist simpered, sinking the again-tainted blade into the clay. Back and forth, he worked the point through the red mud with unusual technique, crafting organic contours into the statuette. Each stroke was almost gleeful, slicing the unwanted flesh. With its work complete the artist returned his blade to its home. He glassed over the object rearing before him, its appendages outstretched. It was a position of pleading; whether the false creature was pleading for life or death was beyond the knowledge of artist. Returning his hands to purpose, the artist gently swept the clay, forcing the barrier between visualization and reality. The thin mental glass broke swiftly and scattered a fresh array of shards into the winds of perceptive, flapping and scarring that which they passed. The details sank into the crafted being’s skin and it neared completion. Taking an awl from its miniscule shelf, the artist supported the head while crossing it with rapid, pen-like strokes. Placing the tool upon the scratched worktable, he folded his hands and stared at the statuette. It was unusual, yet unusually pleasing. His stare went further, shifting to the fresh eyes. In that instant, as the artist looked upon his creation, he know that it too, with glaring eyes of clay, looked back to him. It knew him, as he knew himself. A sensation of disquiet disrupted his line of thought and brought the artist back to reality. He stroked the crust from the lines descending from his eyes. Thirsty, he leaned forward with difficulty and retrieved a tarnished glass vial from a far shelf. He rolled it in his palm, watching the ebb and flow of its contents. The cap scraped open and clattered to the floor below; it wouldn’t be needed. The vial vomited forth its gold-tinted fluids into the smudged water glass, mingling with the remaining water. A smile crinkled across the artist’s face as he hefted the glass to his work-dried lips and again drank. The water was bitter. It was no longer cold.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
This looks like a good piece. What I highly recommend more than anything is to make more paragraphs. If you keep a piece this long at one paragraph, people are going to get bored of reading very easily, and they will stop reading in order to fix their eyesight. I know people love to put all of their ideas in one paragraph because it's similar content, but that's the worst thing you can. Try reading this work again and find the places where you can make new paragraphs. Then, it'll be a perfect read.
this review is probably going to contain a lot of adjectives. anyway.
this is a metaphor that i rarely see in stories, and you only needed the title to grip it. i enjoyed that, along with the simplicity-- it was pleasantly calming and entertaining, and i hung on to every word. like a good vibes book someone reads when they're having anxiety. i don't have any critiques of this, to be honest. it was quite good!
Wow. All I can say is that this is wonderful!
It is rich and descriptive, but yet leaves details out in a good way. I loved reading this, it is splendidly structured.
One tiny thing I did find, however: "It slide from his digits and onto the work surface, ready for transformation." You should have used slid instead of slide for this sentence.
I loved how the artist put himself into his art. I have worked with clay often enough and understand the pride in your creations, but the way the artist uses his blood to ultimately be one with his beloved creations..... It's amazing. I will definitely be reading more of your writing! And please do keep writing!
-Falco-
This is excellently written! At first, I was slightly off-put by the lack of paragraphs. But, after reading it, I'm not sure it even needs them.
I absolutely love the almost unnecessary mystery. The fact that we don't know his name, that you never fully describe the sculpture... We still get to know the character very well, how calculated, paranoid, and worn he is. The feeling of repetition through the whole thing, with the water, the ruts in the floor, the ongoing tiredness, the cuts is done extremely well. Alliteration is used brilliantly, as well.
"Standing, the man took measured steps toward the darkened table, counting the distance away silently. Five steps, then four, now three. He collected the necessities, slicing accordingly. Carrying it back to the lighted work table, his fingers slowly sank into the doughy mass. Unconsciously, he kneaded it, worming deeper and deeper. Then, sudden release. It slide from his digits and onto the work surface, ready for transformation." This is great! Going from words like measured, counting, accordingly to words like unconsciously, sudden, and transformation. From such deliberate action to things that just seem to happen because they're supposed to.
"The crimson of his blood mingled with the mesa shade of the clay, tinging the air with copper. The artist simpered, sinking the again-tainted blade into the clay. Back and forth, he worked the point through the red mud with unusual technique, crafting organic contours into the statuette. Each stroke was almost gleeful, slicing the unwanted flesh." The way the artist and the work of art become one here is incredible. How he's crafting not only the sculpture, but himself to the point of pleasure. "In that instant, as the artist looked upon his creation, he know that it too, with glaring eyes of clay, looked back to him. It knew him, as he knew himself." Just a beautifully disturbing sense of oneness.
I just have to mention my love for this line, as well. "It was always in that sight that he found himself reaffirmed."
The ending was subtly foreshadowed through the whole thing and it concludes the story perfectly. The title is excellent. How tired a god must be, destroying a piece of himself every time he creates something new. A sick, mutual need for connection with his creation. How sad it is that he was replaced by it... You present a weary god beautifully through this man.
Aside from the odd typo here and there, I'd say this is near flawless. Excellently done, and I absolutely love it!