Statue’s Tear

The statues were drooping, listless, sad. The once pristine marble was dirty and grimy, and some of the older statues had features that were unrecognisable, worn away by time. The statues were chipped and broken, some missing ornamentation and some missing limbs and even heads. And the life flow had stopped. Some had hardened, no longer living, dead marble now, the spark of life long faded. Some were sleeping, losing their willpower more and more every lonely abandoned day.

But the spark hadn’t died in them all. Some were still waiting, waiting for people to come and admire them, to be filled with wonder and awe at what they saw, to be inspired and fulfilled and to breathe happiness and light back into the lives of the marble before them.

Vanity was a statue’s main trait, after all, and they ached to be looked at and to be worshipped like they used to, when people flocked from miles around to look at their beauty and the craftsmanship.

But now they were alone, forgotten, with green plants and leaves growing over them and discolouring them and their pride was fading as their beauty diminished and marble cannot cry but if it could… if it could, there would be a river to wash the statues clean.

By: Maura Kenny

(prompts used: marble, listless, Debussy- Rêverie)

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