Forties Club Finalist #66

The Maker
by Mithun Mukherjee


Make it shine…

Light bouncing off the million faces, sunshine is a sliver of broken glass meant to cut through your defenses. Shimmery, radiant. Let it slice through the barriers of your psyche, like melted butter. You must. You will.

Every single one screams.

I block it; it’s my job. Bawling, screaming, a pile of thrusting limbs, a growing confusion. Material. Raw. I create their Nirvana, I design their enlightenment. I am blocking every single emotion trying to clutch at me, as I work on them, one at a time. The rest continue screaming, a desperate mass, but I ignore them. I am paid for this.

They look me right in the eye before going.

I am a preserver; I have never killed. I separated what you did not want; would never have wanted. You will never see those eyes; all you would see are the colors and a respiring brilliance. ”No stone”, you said…”something real!” I only delivered what you asked for. I turned the mundane into a masterpiece. The ones that go are never missed; they really don’t go now, do they?

Turn, turn, turn. Shine. It’s nothing but a stone now. It won’t scream anymore. Won’t look you in the eye. Won’t question your purpose. Glitter. You never need to know what it was; all you see is what I turned it into. I did it for you. Stones never have a heart, unless it’s a heart of stone.

Forget your useless jewels now; wear a soul...