Five Days Later.

You opened this door. Why are you here? Must be your choice. There is no such thing as chance. Survey the room. Since you are here. It is expansive. Large glass windows. Billowy white sheers. The wind blows in lifting the sheers, fluffing them. The room is overcast. The skies outside grey with voluminous, inky- black- grey clouds rushing and rolling. No sun today.
There are packed boxes everywhere. No noise. In the middle of the room stands the stone angel. Shards of broken glass litter the floor around her. Jagged. Shiny. Deadly. Behold her splendour.
Who created her? The sculptor is long gone. Does he ever think of her? Do the memories haunt him? Did he love her? Unanswered questions that echo in this room...Did she help him fashion her? Was she willing? Swirling an empty room...Echoes....Echoes...Do you hear them?
This room is faintly familiar....Let me think. Yes. I remember now. This was where music box dancer once lived. Remember her? The radiant spirit who danced with such abandon, such joy, such freedom, such beauty...If you close your eyes, you may actually see her pirouetting, spinning, twirling...You can hear her laugh. It sounds like gentle rain on a roof. It soothes. It uplifts. Perhaps you cannot hear it. I am not sure. But it is clear that music box dancer has not been here for some time. Some say she is long gone and that she no longer exists. But I know she does. I hear the rustlings of her in her music box. Faintly. Distantly. Far, far away...
The stone angel is most exquisite. Did you run your fingers along her lines? Did you wonder what will become of her now? What did you feel if anything at all? She cannot remain in this room untouched, unfeeling forever. Even the stone angel knows this....As you turn and reach the door, did you hear a slight sound? You turn. You look at the stone angel. Did you see a tear on her face? Was it just the reflection of some fragment of light on her fine face? Was it just your imagination? It is unclear. And you turn and walk away through the door, shutting it softly, gently leaving the stone angel silent and alone.

Thank you.
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12 Responses Sep 18, 2012

The transubstantiation of dancer to angel and finally into stone is etherial and haunting. Does the stone represent something left behind, cold and heavy, lost in it's past but perfectly visible and powerful enough to make a very sore toe if not observant? Where does the artist exist today, does that entity leave the room too, never to return?

Impressed me so much.
he box dancer...

Direct me to each one, please.
On every each one of your Works I find something that touches my strings.
Not just emotions, almost memories.

Don\'t know how this may happen.
But you understand...

Did you?

i saved this to my desk top, again wow
It made me think of all the different ways i have change throught this journey

WOW, you can write, what an amazing visualization!
i can relate, ! ! !

you should! !! GOOD FOR YOU


The sculptor has seen the angel in the stone hence he made her alive and still he there to cherish her,only she has to come out being a stone and still imagines so.Beautiful expression.

you are welcome dear

a thoughtful piece of writing that was a pleasure to easily imagine . . . from all three perspectives . . . thank you for sharing this cynthia . . . 8D

"'Tis a gift to be simple / 'Tis a gift to be free...."

I love the way you use words, thank you

The music box dancer and the stone angel must know each other or even be the same spirit. There is plenty to discover. I think the story is ominous. I think something bad happened and I think it is difficult to witness.

Ominous. Afraid of the terror of the transition.


This makes me sad... :(

Every word, empathy was strong in this one.