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She’s frozen in time; her aging alabaster face depicting the immense sadness she has been through. Her slanting eyes droop from dreariness, the eyelids sagging into the bags beneath. The yellowing stains around her face will forever show the tears she cried.
The face that shows now isn’t as perfect as it had once been. She was freshly carved, cheeks glistening in the sunlight, mouth lifting up into a smile.
Now, there are cracks and stains, wear of years gone by. She doesn’t not care, though, for she has lost him and that’s all that matters.
He was a young boy when they met for the rest time. He had come to visit the temple with his parents, but ran off into the garden. As soon as he saw her, he stopped to admire. He wouldn’t believe someone had created such a masterpiece, such beauty!
He stayed until his parents dragged him away from her, whispering a promise that he would come again the next day.
The boy came faithfully—year after year—. He grew before her sparkling eyes, the boyish muscle becoming less lanky, his height soaring taller. The young man he was turning into made her rejoice.
One day, the man came to the temple with a woman. She had glowing dark hair and her skin was the perfect shade of light brown.
The stature smile at every kiss and hug they shared together. She was glad the man had found someone to love.
When the temple bells rang out the wedding chimes, she knew that they had gotten married. The glittering rings sparkled like both of their eyes.
Then, the world began to change around the happy couple. The country became war ridden and me were being called into service.
The man began to train for war and both the statue and his wife cried for him not to leave.
But he was determined to go and the hardness of his eyes settled the matter.
She saw him one last time before he would never be seen again. he stared at her, his piercing eyes staring through her. The military uniform he wore proudly made him look like someone new to her.
His young wife clutched him to her, but it was time for him to go. With one chaste kiss on his wife’s lips and a quick glance at the stone beauty, he left.
A year later, the widowed wife stumbled by. The statue knew he was dead by the tear stains down the woman’s lovely face. He would never return to the both of them. He would never see that he would be a father or his little boy grow up.
The withering statue wept, holding on to the memories she had of him.
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Title:
Withering Away
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Artist:
laiud902893h
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Description:
Every Thursday in my Creative Writing class we choose a random picture from a pile. I picked up one with a statue that looked Indian (as in India, etc.). The statue had stains down the sides of its face and it was a bit cracked here and there. I thought it looked like it had been crying, you know, tear stains. Our teacher said we were allowed to write in any perspective we wanted, so I chose the statue's
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Date:
09/12/2009
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Tags:
withering
away
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