accept the mystery
I’m a sculpture student attending my last year of university.
For my final project, I have yet to find a model.
Tons of people offer, but no one has ever actually caught my eye.
Until I met him.
Although we just passed each other for a moment, I knew he was exactly who I was looking for.
I immediately asked him if he would be willing to model for me, explaining my situation,
and he agreed.
A few days later, my new muse came by my studio and I begun sketching some ideas for my sculpture.
Nothing seemed to satisfy me, so I told him to take a break.
Then, it hit me.
The perfect pose!
I immediately started to scribble in my sketchbook while he sat there silently.
Afterwards, He came to my studio everyday for weeks while I continued to perfect my
sculpture.
Over the course of those weeks, we got to know each other much better.
He even told me that I was starting to inspire him to begin trying sculpting himself.
We even joked that I could be his first muse.
Long after I didn’t need him to come by anymore, he continued to keep me company at
the studio.
The sculpture was my magnum opus, everything about it was just so…perfect.
The emotion it conveyed was unexplainable, almost like it was… lonely.
Which is ridiculous to think about a sculpture, I know.
But I couldn’t help but feel a sense of isolation from it.
I decided to name it “solo”.
One night, as I was cleaning the studio, I felt as if someone was watching me.
My muse had left a few minutes earlier, so I thought he might of stayed behind and hid
somewhere to scare me.
But even after I searched the studio, no one was there.
The only “people” in the room were me and solo.
I paused, and looked straight into his lifeless clay eyes, while brushing my fingers across
his cheek.
He really did look identical to my muse.
Then, I left my studio, making sure to close and lock it.
When I laid in bed that night, I was woken up by the sound of shuffling coming from downstairs.
It was too late at night to comprehend it, so I turned over and fell back asleep.
However, I could have sworn that I heard my bedroom door open.
When I entered my studio the next day, I noticed that some of my materials were missing.
Of course, I didn’t want to accuse my muse, but he was the only other person who came
to my studio the night before.
When I saw him for lunch that afternoon, I asked him what he did after he left my place
yesterday.
He explained that he went straight home and started on some homework.
From the expression on his face, I could tell that he wasn’t lying.
We stayed out for so long that it was beginning to get dark.
So I headed back to my studio after we finished eating.
I quickly noticed that all my materials were back where they originally were.
However, one thing was different.
My sculpture had moved slightly.
Anyone else might not have noticed it, but I was a perfectionist.
It was just two inches, with a residue of dust leading somewhere else.
I found it strange since none of my other art pieces had ever left any sort of dust
like this.
Then, I realized that it was leading out of the studio.
So I followed it all the way to the basement door, and noticed that it was opened slightly.
I live alone, but I rarely go into the basement since quite frankly, it gives me the creeps.
The fact that there was a trail of white dust leading down there meant that someone else
was here.
The thought of someone you don’t know being in your house is terrifying.
I slowly crept down the steps, feeling my hands tremble as I leaned on the railing for
balance.
When I saw what was awaiting for me in the basement, I almost screamed
The basement was filled with sculptures identical to me.
Most of them I was doing mundane tasks, like sketching in my notebook or cleaning my house.
But there was one that creeped me out the most.
I was peacefully asleep in my bed.
There were no flaws in any of them, yet I knew for certain I definitely did not make
these.
I would have surely remembered sculpting them…
So I got a baseball bat, and begun smashing all of them.
At first, it was horrifying.
The thought of not having control over my hands as I went insane.
Then, it almost became euphoric to watch the beautiful works of art shatter into pieces.
That’s when I heard the basement door creek open.
I stopped in my tracks, covered from head to toe in the ashes of the broken statues
clouding the air.
It was solo, his once lifeless clay eyes were now alive.
I knew I wasn’t crazy.
I knew there was no way I could have created all these sculptures.
It was him making me believe that I was insane.
I lifted my bat, and began crushing solo.
Blood splattered all over the walls and stained my clothes a dark red.
In the end it looked like it’s own work of art.
The next day, my muse came by and looked shocked to see that my sculpture was gone.
He said it was a shame to see such a beautiful piece of art go to waste, but I couldn’t
tell if he was being genuine or not.
I still needed to turn something into my professor, so I began making another one.
However, this time I began using myself as my model.
I took inspiration from the blood bath in the basement, and it turned out even better
than my original project.
When I showcased it for our art gallery, many people gathered around my piece.
Lots of them thought it was grotesque and horrifying, but to me it was my truest form.
My professor seemed to agree and I passed the final.
The person who spent the longest time looking at it was my muse.
He seemed to be captivated by the piece.
in order to celebrate the semester ending, my muse and I cooked dinner to treat ourselves.
While carrying a glass of sparkling water, I accidentally dropped it.
It immediately shattered and pieces of glass went flying everywhere.
As I clenched my hand to stop the bleeding, I noticed something.
No blood came out of my muse as he picked up the glass shards with his bare hands
I silently grabbed my baseball bat, then crept up behind him.
With one final swing, I shattered him.
As he faded away into dust, I realized something.
This was not my original muse.