The Retellings

Cold Love

In an old shed with mould-covered walls and broken doors, sat a lonely sculptor. The stench of sweat and rotting wood danced around him. He sat to admire his work, searching for an imperfection. The sculptor's chisel fell to the ground. Awe and fear scattered across his face. His masterpiece was finally complete. There were no imperfections. Before his hollowed- eyes stood his marbled love. She stared at the sculptor with emotionless eyes. The man crawled across the filth to touch the plump thigh of his sculpted lover.

Upon his lover's bleached skin remained the sculptor's grimy fingerprints. For the first time in years, the sculptor smiled, causing his dried lips to tear. The sculptor stood on trembling limbs to admire his love.

His calloused thumb stroked over her stone lips, dirtying the innocent marble. Languidly he moved his palm to her cheek, feeling the perfect skin beneath his imperfect hands. The sculptor took one step to his marbled masterpiece. His face inches away from his perfect lover. A stray tear rolled down his cheek. The sculptor licked his chapped lips, his dry tongue tasting nothing but dust and bruises. "I... I love you," he whispered to his frozen love.

The sculptor clenched his amber eyes shut. He allowed his chapped lips to fall upon the ivory lips of his masterpiece. The lifeless touch from the kiss left his lips yearning for true warmth.
More tears rolled down the sculptor's cheeks, collecting dust and broken dreams. "If only.." The sculptor rested his head against the figure's full chest. His knuckles turned white as he grasped onto her. The marbled beauty listened whilst tears tore through the sculptor's body. He gasped for air, but his own vile odour assaulted his lunges.
"If only you were real!" His lonely voice erupted throughout the empty shed.

Dust bunnies ran from the sculptor's broken screams, but no soul could ever hear his pleas for love. His prayers for companionship, and his wishes for a warm touch.