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The Creator and his Muse
Aki’s POV
They called me a devil once.
They say my hands only know of creating blasphemous images. Forming sculptures that were unnatural and grotesque and would dare contest the images that God himself created---unacceptable.
But all I saw was beauty.
Truth.
Absolute beauty.
I dream about him or maybe even her. Whichever they may see it, I only see a source of glee.
Stretching out those pale, delicate fingers, tapping slowly into the cage of my ribs,
Maneuvering into the hollow spaces until they reached my heart.
Even on my waking days, I dream, I search, I long.
I wonder too,
Could that lovely creature feel how fast my heart beat for him?
How much my chest feels so out of air whenever I am not beside him?
I wonder.
And I turn into slumber, still left questioning.
What I dream about is a face and a smile that know only of kindness and purity.
And I haven’t chosen a new medium for I thought the canvass would not be enough to give it justice.
I wanted my reverence to be lifelike.
To stand beside me.
To surround me.
Just so I could see it in movement.
Circling me, walking beside me, therefore that way I would no longer be alone.
But despite using cold marble, when I finally dared to truly place my skin on the flesh.
And then I felt it pierce through me, I felt it.
The warmth.
Did I will him to feel my touch as I carved his face into?
Or was it my mind playing tricks upon my senses as I detailed his hair?
But this heavenly body was so fragile.
So uniquely intricate.
And mine.
My hands took life on its own. With my dirtied fingers, I created hollows for his eyes, the shape of a doe, sharpening my chisel to create details of his brows, angular yet serene, his lips, bowed yet not taut and his nose, a bridge in the middle but not highly pointed----an image of what perfection should be in another form.
I molded the rest of the marble to create waves of luxurious hair, one that would dance in the breeze and would be colored by heated amber mixed with rose petals---strawberry in shade, scent if imagined would match the sweetness of the fruit.
What was left for days as a bust was now crafted with sturdy, limber arms for the creator could not fathom how one can live with purpose if they are not able to hold things so dear?
To embrace another and create warmth.
To be able to reach out and feel and clasp and have the spaces in one’s fingers to never empty.
He blinked to clear his vision and slowly opened his eyes once more to the output of his hope.
He held his breathe for moments and took in air.
Magnificent. I enthralled, taking paces back to examine the output of my artistic possession.
When I first breathed on him to dust off the excess remnants that my chisel had created, I thought I was merely trying to make a clean piece of work.
Then, something above him lit up.
A remarkable, natural spotlight that erased shadows and highlighted his pristine face…I looked, and I looked closer as I drew near him.
I was enamored by him.
I did not know that I had such power.
Some call it magic.
I called it love.
I have given life to it because, I have loved my work.
And because, in the lonely world I lived in, I was given a gift.
And that gift was companionship.
Many years have passed and very few people I came across stayed long to hear my stories and now there was one who would be able to imprint my words into his soul.
But I knew,
Someday, he would have to use the feathers on his back I weaved for him.
I wanted to set him free, my Angel.
I told him so, to leave me and find his place in the world but he had told me,
“I am yours; won’t you teach me of the ministrations of this life? Did you not create me to guide me?”
“I created you with wings so you would be free, for many a time you have kept me company and have dissolved my emptiness,”
He frowned, “I feel most uninhibited when I am with you. What will happen to me if I stray?”
The sculptor’s tired, calloused fingers ghosted over the side of his face and his green, leafy eyes glinted with both sorrow and yearning removed its stare from his gentle face,
“I fear that if I touch you once more, you will crumble to dust and disappear,”
His proudest creation, his soulmate, he did not know was crafted out of his love, the most powerful kind of charm that weaved intricacies of his emotions, his sweat, his tears and his desire to find happiness made him human, reached out to his creator instead.
The Angel lifted Aki’s chin to face him all the while smiling at him, gently, sincerely, his auburn hair shining over the natural light of his halo, allowed him to view his own reflection in his eyes. He moved his lips once more,
“I would only cease to exist if you do not need me anymore. I will only leave, if you tell me to. You say you made me because you felt incomplete and now that you have me, your other half, why would you wish to settle back in solitude when there would not be any point of existing when we are apart?”
The artist sulked, his core trembled, and his confidence wavered the more heard more of his heartfelt confessions poured forth into his being,
“My life is filled with guns pointed at my head. I am a prime target for conservatives especially since you came to be,”
Aki wrapped his arms around Angel’s small frame now, smoothening the back of his head as he muffled his whimper into his hair, “I’d rather be destroyed alone than have to watch the both of us suffer in chains!”
Angel couldn’t help but let out a little coo and laugh now, his odd reaction making the shaky man create some distance to examine his expression. He was in his own shackles and the rouge that proved of his health was replaced by a canvass of snow.
But the radiance of Angel’s halo emitted a beacon of warmth that hovered over him now and as their eyes met, Aki saw the light---
Of Joy. Hope. Tranquility.
That was what was etched in the beautiful creature’s face.
“What are we to fear Aki? When I have wings? I can lift us away from this hell. I will never leave you,” he stretched out his hands to the sculptor now and grinned widely,
“All you have to do is take my hand,”
“And what will we do then?”
He laced his fingers unto his beloved and tip-toed to mold his lips slowly and gently unto his savior and broke for breath. With moistened eyes and scarlet faces, he breathed,
“Then, we will leap, then, we will live,”
He took his hand and allowed the angel to lift them off the ground and with one flounce, the once deathly silent halls that housed the echoes of his lonely wailing was now filled with the sound of wings.
The sound of freedom.
END