Back
As the story goes, many years back in a small settlement town, there lived a man of stone. He spent his days sitting on a wood bench at the end of the park smiling at the grass, his eyes staring off into oblivion. The people of the town grew weary of him, fearing what he was or could be. You could ask anyone and they would tell you how much they disliked him being there. On the second day, I knew where to work. And on this third day before I rest, I realize what I must create. Then the sculptor noticed the villager peaking over his shoulder and had promptly closed the journal and walked off. After those three days of observation, the man checked out of the Inn and, people say, moved into the park. He set up a tent at the edge of the small cliff overlooking the river. There, under the shade of a mountain, was his home for the next year and a half. The mayor of this town insisted he be left alone and given necessities. "What harm will he do?" he scoffed to everyone. "Leave a nice statue for us in the park? We could use one of those!" The sculptor worked tirelessly. His days consisted of venturing up the mountainside to collect as many rocks as he could hold and piling them next to a bench on the cliff. After he had assembled a sufficient pile, he carefully sifted through them, carving each one into shapes that fit surprisingly well together. The pieces were glued in place, slowly taking the form of his creation. This odd way of sculpting attracted many villagers to come watch his art take form. Rock by rock, from the leg up, he precisely created his stone man- the cracks between the small stones looking like veins creeping through the skin. Each section he finished was covered with a thick brown mixture that some say was merely mud. When the stone man was completed and the mixture dried, he gleamed with an eerie reality, each crack disappearing as if he had been one solid piece of stone all along. With his work finished, the sculptor sat on the bench next to his creation. The whole town turned out that day to view this unusual art. There the stone man sat, eyes closed as if proud of his own appearance. The villagers whispered at how perfect the face was, how the stone robe creased and moved in all the right directions. Even the hair looked as if it were swaying in the wind. As the excitement of the day faded, the villagers disappeared, satisfied for now with what had been made for them. There was a terrible storm that night and, from how the story is told, several flashes of lightening touched ground in the park. The next morning, though no one saw him leave, all traces of the sculptor had vanished. His stone man now sat, eyes open. �Don�t fear the lightening. Nature will give you strength. Light will burn hope into your lifeless veins.� He never knew who he was, what he was. His first memories were of a voice, a man�s sad whisper through his mind. It was there telling him the answers to all he had ever questioned. Yet it never came through clear enough for him to understand. For three lonely decades he had been waiting patiently, not aware of the time passing. He had endured the freezing cold and the constant teasing. Every morning he looked forward to the sun rising and shining light on the river and mountains he loved. His only desire was to stay there and gaze upon what he saw from his place on the bench. The beauty of the scene took him in, as if he were a part of that land in front of him. On the anniversary of his birth, a monstrous storm blew in overhead. The town was unprepared, having enjoyed calm weather for the past thirty years. They clung to their clothes, rushing to find the safest place to hide. Yet the stone man was unafraid, not sure himself if he was actually feeling the rain. As he looked in wonder at the lightening crackling across the afternoon sky, a small cry broke through the thunder. When the call sounded again, only this time a frantic scream, he looked down at the river. His eyes locked on the tiny figure being dragged swiftly through the thrashing water. �In a few brief moments we are made, creatures existing without knowing our own purpose. But just because you exist doesn�t mean you�re really alive. When the day comes, you�ll wake up to exactly who and what you are.� There was something strange in his chest, like a gentle beating. But as the little girl in the river screamed louder, the stone man set every thought he had aside. The questions no longer mattered: a part of his beautiful scene was in danger, and he knew he had to change it. Without realizing how, he was up and working his way down the small cliff. Fighting the stiffness he felt, he ran with a vigor he had never thought was in him. His body didn�t stop until it touched river. The girl he wanted to save clung desperately to a jutting rock in the middle of the water. Her eyes begged him for help as he approached. Not knowing how to swim, he continued to walk until his head was completely submerged. Something painful arose in his chest, a desire to escape the water and suck in air. �What am I�� any thought he might have had was broken as he saw the girl�s legs dangling in the water above him. He pushed himself to reach for her, his arms feeling heavier now than ever. When he had caught hold of one of her ankles, he jerked abruptly, pulling the little girl underneath the waves and into his arms. Using all the vigor he had left inside him, he shoved his way back to the shore and above water. The girl sat in the mud coughing, looking at this strange being who had just helped her. The stone man looked back, realizing for the first time what it was to breath. �Who�who are you?� the girl said. The stone man opened his mouth, not sure if he could talk. �I�� his voice slowly squeaked out. �I don�t know. Who are you?� �I�m an orphan. My name is Eris.� The rain started to die down and she paused to wipe the wet hair out of her eyes. �If you don�t know who you are, you have to have a name at least. Don�t you?� The stone man looked at the river. �Name�� he whispered to himself. �I don�t have a name.� �Of course you do. Everyone does. So what is your name then?� �I�� He looked up at the sky peaking through gaps in the clouds. He had never thought about having a name. After all, he had never known what it felt like to be alive. He watched Eris as her quizzical expression bore into him. �My name is Sky,� he said, his lips smiling. She smiled back at him. �That�s a pretty name. Thank you, Sky, for saving me. I won�t forget you.� She got up and ran back up the slope toward town. Her words played over and over in his mind. �What will I do now?� he asked himself out loud, loving his new found ability to talk. He stood up and started to walk upriver, away from the town. �Real living takes bravery. But no matter what, once you wake up, never forget who and what you are.� Sky felt an excitement rising within him. �I won�t forget,� he smiled. |
