Writing dump

Literature Short Story: A Gifted Lover

She had the urge to break them in half with a steel crowbar. Turning away from the half-finished sculpture, she tugged at her hair, instantly regretting it when a flurry of white dust fell from it.

Dust. Dust was everywhere. It covered almost every surface, but she had had enough of cleaning, as she had done so for hours. She needed a break. Something other than the work she had been chipping away at for days.

It was getting stale, the same silhouette over and over. They're all the same. Her muse was getting old, and she needs something new. Something other than this pale-stone nightmare.

Her legs burned from exhaustion and her insides felt cold. If she could run on her hands, then maybe she'd be at an advantage. The dirt track below her was bumpy, and she slipped on the occasional rock, so she'll stay on her feet for now.

She breathed in the fresh air and took a step forward off the dirt track she had been following, only to slip on a rock and tumble down a hill.

She grazed her knees and flailed about, trying to grab something to stop her from falling into the lake. As if she'd humiliate herself by walking back to the village drenched after running out the way she did.

Delaney was left laying on her back in the wild grass that tickled her skin. Looking up at the light blue sky as few clouds floated by, like a grazing flock of wayward sheep. Giving out a loud, weary groan, she sat up, pulling blades of grass from her hair and hoping she'd got the majority of it.

She saw a white structure in the distance, obscured by the hanging branch of a willow tree as if the structure was being unveiled by a curtain. She stood up, swaying on her feet, and made her way around the lake towards the opening near the willow tree.

She wanders on an overgrown trail through the trees, that leads straight to a marble path. It connected to a gazebo; a structure so magnificent that she felt as though she was winded just by the sight of it. Coruscating a silver light, it glistened in the golden rays from the sun. How peculiar. The marble was held up by eight figures, the ninth in the middle standing alone. It was resplendent; glowing as though it created its own light source to forever remain illuminated. She dropped her satchel, various tools and her sketchbook sliding out of the leather case due to the faulty latch on the exterior.

She drifted closer to the heavenly structure, observing it from all angles to delve deeper into its radiant build. The bottom of the isolated statue was slightly yellowed, which indicated that lake water has encompassed the floor before— probably due to heavy rainfall, causing the lake to overflow.

Perhaps this was what she needed. A breath of fresh air and inspiration from another work with such attention to detail. It was a shame that time has no mercy. The statue was riddled with cracks, although they didn't deter from its beauty.

"Delaney," the librarian sighs, leaning across the counter, "we close in one minute. You know I'm not allowed any customers past nine."

Delaney wrings her hands and rambles incoherently. "I know I know, and I promise that I'll be gone in a second, I just need to know if you know anything about the gazebo? The one near the meadows' lake?"

The librarian's thin eyebrows slant in confusion, "there isn't anything but the giant willow tree over that side of the village, Lane. We've been there before and saw nothing..."

Delaney opens her satchel and pulls out her sketchbook flicking through pages as she looks for the sheet she filled today with drawings of the gazebo and marble statues. Having found the page finally, Delaney turns towards the librarian. "Lane... these—" she's cut off.

"I was there! I was there all day documenting every single crack in the marble, and you're looking me in the eye and telling me it isn't real?"

"Look. These drawings of yours are of a place that doesn't exist. It's mythical. An old folktale and I can tell you that much about it."