My mother told me about it when I was around 6 years old. She told me I wasn't an only child, I was one of two little girls. You see, she told me that when I was first born along with my twin sister, she died the evening she was born. She never told me why or how she died...or when they had the funeral of her. She told me about my father going into a deep sense of mourning, and to let us never forget my little sister, my father made a sculpture of her.
She was painted to every las detail. Her cute blue eyes to the little dimples in her cheeks. My father would copy me as a reference since we were twins, and as I grew up I thought the sculpture was of me, but now that my mother cleared this all up, I felt more close the the sculpture than I did before.
It wasn't long until I noticed that every year; on my birthday, my father would replace the sculpture and now the culpture looked tha same age as me, as if the sculpture would follow me as I aged. My father continued to do this well into my teenage years, capturing her older and more mature features and the change in her face.
On my 18th birthday, I realized I couldn't sleep. I was wondering how my father made the sculpure so detailed to me so late into the night. Perhaps he took a photo of me and paints it in every detail? I was damn curious. So I decided to creep my way downstairs to see if I could catch my father making the sculpture, and as I peeked my head around the kithen door, I felt the colour of my face drain.
There, on the kitchen table, my father was injecting the sculpture with liquid substance as he whispered, "You will always be my sculpture."
And I saw the sculpture's hand twitch
