The Beautiful Sculpture

I will always remember the moment when she broke into my life, I was alone in this little street, and walked slowly, remembering that I was looking for tranquility, walking and beating a statue.
I remember, I was very surprised to see such a beautiful sculpture in the middle of this alley, and she was doing the same task in the midst of all this filth, she was white, fine, and represented a young woman of incredible grace. I had decided to approach it to admire the details, and I touched it with my fingertips. My hand slid over the realistic curves of this naked woman.
Image Courtesy Of SpanishSun
And suddenly, some of the material in which it was made has crumbled. I had wanted to, but it seemed that instead of destroying it, I had discovered something more interesting. I continued to pass my hand, in every part of the statue that was standing and seemed to dominate me. The more my hand touched her, the more I felt that she was shivering, as if she felt my presence. I was not wrong. Enough of the stone had been destroyed so that I could see that underneath, there was a skin, a human skin. I remember thinking that it was something else, but I had not stopped. Stroking her body slowly, I had managed to create a human.
She was as beautiful as the statue, entirely naked. His curves were real, his face was sharp. She looked at me with an air of disgust, and covered her body with her dirty hands. I looked at her, stunned and amazed at so much mystery and beauty. Long blond hair fell to her hips, like a cascade of bright yellow leaves. Her small almond-shaped eyes, of limpid blue, looked at me. They were as beautiful as the rest of her body. His face inspired tenderness. But the person in himself was like a forest in summer: wild. And it was the adjective that best described it.
She decided to run away but collapsed after a few steps. I decided to join her, to make her understand that I was not going to do her any harm. She looked at me with that terror in her eyes, and tried to scratch me. Like a wild cat, she did not let herself do it. In a word, however, I managed to calm her down.

– Hold on!

She stared at me, and then replied:

– I can not wait, you touched me and abused me!

– You speak?! But, you’re a real human then?

– Of course I’m a human! After having gagged me you continue to have doubts ?!

– Sorry, I did not want to do anything to you, my intention was not bad. I am surprised that you are normal, because it happens that I touched you for a particular reason.

– What do you mean? Is there a reason more disgusting than that for which you have touched me?

– You were stone. Trying to better discover the statue you were, I touched you, and I realized that underneath there was a real person.

– Really? I was a statue? Incredible, so I succeeded !!

– I always love everything that relates to art. I was doing dance, drawing, sculpture … All that was my daily life. While I was at home and sculpted, I realized that sculpture pleased me more. So I made a vow.

“Your vows were to become a statue, were not you?”

– But no! I said this in my head: “I will wish from the depths of my heart and soul, to live by my art, to become a part of art. So I see that I became a statue that made someone dream. You must not be anyone to have found and delivered me. You must be someone who loves art!

“It is something without which I could not live.”

Image Courtesy Of SpanishSun

After this strange discussion she decided to accompany me to my house. Having no place to go, I proposed to her to remain asleep. She’d given me her name after a while. Her name was Adelyn. That name suited her perfectly. She felt gaiety and nature, but she had no tongue in her pocket. Her physique did not resemble her rather boyish character. But it emanated from her an incredible charm. During the night she was calm, and I had amused myself by looking at her. Her beauty was frightening! What a beautiful young woman!

She stayed for a long time at home, for 1 year we lived together. I should even say we shared everything. Our food, our apartment, our room, and even after a while, our bed. I loved it. She loved me. We seemed made for each other. This meeting was the fruit of destiny, and Adelyn was the missing piece to my perfect life. I saw her dancing, singing, drawing, sculpting. She always kept her freshness. I never thought that such a thing could happen.

On a disastrous day, she went off to walk as she did so often. And she never came back. I searched for hours and hours. I finally got to the alley of our meeting. She was beautiful, much more beautiful than before. Vines and pretty leaves dotted its walls. In the center of it, a statue. The statue of a marvelous woman, who, in a gust of wind, fell and broke. The breaks of the perfect woman. Adelyn.

The dust of my beloved evaporated, flew into the blue sky of the color of her eyes. I could not catch her, for she had remained what she was: wild.

I would never understand what happened, but I remember this amazing encounter, this wonderful year, and this terrible loss. It is always there, in every piece I listen to, every drawing that I make, every sculpture I create, like an eternal recommencement where the girl I love remains that wild dust.

Paris Metro

Five and a half in the morning. Metro Trocadero. The oar, crosses Paris; Entangled with his party-goers and other little hands of capitalist industry. It is more or less day out. It is more or less dark under my eyelids. I no longer notice much; Nor the doors that open and close in a heady ballet, nor the yawns of my neighbors, nor the bursts of laughter of a masked gang down there in the background. And then Lolita comes.

Eleven, barely two. The pale complexion, almost Mediterranean of the beauties of the east. A navy cap on the skull, a pink T-shirt; It exploits a myth and it knows it. His shoes are white, but dirty. His skin looks sweet, but oily. She carries behind her the now famous musical cadis of beggars. Its teeth its sockets and its long black fleece hangs, undulating on its small kidneys. A star, and certainly not a princess. A woman, and certainly not a little girl. A lolita, and certainly not a modest kid.


Paris Metro

Image courtesy of FindAdviser


I’m sitting on a jump seat. Its work area. The music starts. A few words in Romanian are spoken like balanced in the air without returns. And here she is that girl who starts rapping or what I know; She bellows, she waddles. Everything is fine. A few handfuls of seconds would almost awaken a calm, condescending attention; When she starts to stir her ass. Forget the Parisian subway. The spotlights come out of the ceiling of the rolling steel bowl, the once pale light sifters, the safety railings turn into pole for its Farruca dance.

Forgotten, the begging dance. Forgotten child. It is a bitch who waddles it, vibrates her ass like these African ┬áreports on the Ivory Coast. She moves closer and closer. I do not think she’s pretty anymore. I do not feel excited by his youth; When she seems to hope to offer me a private show, I explode, leaving dubious the hungry around me. His throat in my fingers. His small body twenty centimeters above the ground: I scream. “What do you hope to become, to entice men too old from the height of your twelve years? So that’s why your parents took you to France? To sell you, to make your whore, and play a game too dangerous for a child? What are you trying to do to spoil your childhood? Just begging. Pay you the luxury of having a choice. Go to school, wear skirts, make you quilts, like little girls of your age. You’re too beautiful to let you die like that little whore. ” Like the last day of her life, Lolita pisses on. I can feel the amber and burning liquid running down her thigh and flirting with my jeans. Nobody moved everyone looks at me. I rest the child, the doors open. Charles of Gaul star, Terminus. I go out, staring at the child, a little panicked about the evil being I met and sublet in my house. Suddenly my hand points towards her, drawing an imaginary revolver. I shoot. A wink and I disappear.


Today I saved a life.