The Sculptor

The young boy watched his master carefully as he delicately chiseled out an intricate marble mural. His master's wrinkled hands traced over the work they had created, as if he were caressing the face of a lover. He turned to boy so he could see his pale face a bright blue eyes sparkle with tears. The boy smiled as his master placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered quietly " One day my boy, you'll change the world with your art, just as you have my heart" The young boy took those words to heart and served his mentor well. In the night he heard a strangled cry and crept to his master's room. He recoiled in shock and repulsion as he beheld his beloved master who hanged himself from the rafters. The boy grew into a fine young sculptor and soon opened his own workshop.
Indeed he was very talented for kings, queens, dukes and doges all lined up to have their statues and busts created by the young man. He worked tirelessly on his creations, spending days at a time on the head of a saint or the hand of a hero. One powerful and great man approached him. "Create for me a grand statue that shall be the envy of all nations!" The young nan couldn't refuse the large sum of gold and so he set to work. The man worked endlessly, carving out the marble slowly and with precision. Years passed and the man grew older and frail. Demons haunted his dreams and whispered to him in dark places, slowly driving him to sanity's end. At last the statue was finished, 10 ft tall and made of solid marble, it depicted a man holding his severed head in his hands while thorns twisted around his legs and abdomen. The man returned and was horrified by what he saw. "it's a disaster! A devils work!" he screamed and demanded his repayment. The old sculptor couldnt pay him and was threatened with prison when the man returned next day. The sculptor wept and desperately grabbed a mallet and spike. He smote the statue time and time again, pieces of white marble littering the ground. When he no longer had strength, the man fell to his knees and looked up at his ruined work. " O Fortuna vestra crudelitas iterum percussit unus pestem  hominibus. Nesciunt quod quaerunt, et duces caecorum caesus!" and fell to the floor dead. The guards found him the next day lying by his ruined statue, all that remained was a foot wrapped in thorns.

The End

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