Tales from the Antique Store.

The Sculptor

 Let me tell you a story. Yes, oh, yes I have a tale for you. It starts in this very house. My little mansion by the sea. This is where it happened. Where I was driven to madness. If you will entertain me, I shall entertain you with my account.

I am an artist. As I eat and as I breathe, I sculpt. Give me clay and I will form it into divine beauty. Give me marble and I will leave only David. Give me time and I will complete my masterpiece.

Last week, my fortieth birthday came and passed. They threw me a party. All my friends and family came to celebrate the day. I was abandoned in a house of color and revel. I was Prospero waiting for my ruby masque, but no such savior came. Everyone I held dear bestowed tokens of their affection. From my sister came a clock: the instrument of my undoing.

When a sculptor cannot sculpt, he is nothing. A day that bathed me in the glow of Inspiration was stolen by my guests, but that is in the past. Day after day, I toiled on my sculpture. Inspiration came, but it left like a raven in flight. That clock, that horrendous affront to good taste mocked me, so here is what I did.

One night, as I lay awake with thoughts of the horrible clock, Inspiration hit again. I knew what I would do. What I must do. I crept into my studio. That clock mocked me from my mantle. I seized the offending timepiece and threw it from my window onto the hard stone below. It smashed beyond recognition, and my soul was free.

I was free of the hideous clock. I went back to my art. For hours, I studied my materials, then I started to work. Long into the night, I sculpted. Days passed in a blur. When I tried to sleep I heard it. Oh, I heard it still. That ticking again. I'd broken the clock into a thousand pieces; I scooped it myself into the trashcan. Not a spring nor a gear did I leave of the thing; yet it still ticked! I was going mad, I thought, but whenever I lay in bed that ticking assaults my ears as clear as I'm speaking to you now. I was being haunted.

My conscience ate at me. My sister gave me that clock and, without a moment's thought, I cast it away. Oh, Sister, oh, Sister, I cried on the phone, it's true, I'm guilty. I broke the clock. I broke your gift. Brother, she cried back, you're raving, you're mad. Don't go anywhere. I'm calling an ambulance. Yes. I was mad. I sat and waited for them to take me away.

The ambulance came. High blood pressure they said! Anxiety attack they cried! Clocks don't become ghosts, you're hearing your heartbeat! Don't go days without sleep anymore, you're forty-years-old! Listen to us. You'll kill yourself!

I pushed myself far too hard for far too long. My doctor recommended that I reduce my sodium intake. I've also started light exercise four times per week. I've been making sure to get at least six hours of sleep, and my sculpting has never been better. I even finished my masterpiece.