At first he did not notice the strange thing lying on the ground. It was hard to notice; between the flashes of lightening, the wind stirring the branches, and the pouring rain.
He had been coming out to this clearing for some time. He had painted it over and over; different aspects in summer, winter, and fall. He loved the scent of the trees and way the light sliced into the branches. He loved the view of the clouds over the trees on a sunny day, the way they piled on top of one another in towers of fog.
He had never seen it in a storm, and he had wanted to. There was a kind of beauty unique only to stormes; the raging wind, the driven rain, the unpredicatble lightening, and the pitch-black sky all added together into a maelstrom of black and white.
When he finally noticed the thing, he thought it was a branch from a birch tree. When he got close enough, he realized it was a hand, which scared him. It was like a scene from a horror movie.
|Sculpture by Aaron Fung|
And then it started moving.
He watched, dumbfounded, as the clay flowed like water, extending from the base where the wrist connected to the arm, the arm connecting to a shoulder, the shoulder flowing downwards into breasts and a torso and thighs. Soon, a whole, complete woman was standing before him, made completely out of clay.
"And that's how I met your mother." he ended the story, leaning back and taking a sip of his drinks as his children stared at him.
10 minutes, 320 words