Microseconds of Hurt

As Uwe gathered himself, his actual being positioning himself in front of the rock he was about to sculpt, Flaz walked in.

“Go away, Flaz,” said Uwe.

“Back at this old endeavor, are you?” said Flaz. “Carving into the rock.”

What Flaz did not know was how Uwe had once, in his life, crawled out of a deep and dark passage. It had been like a tunnel, except no hole. Uwe had had to break through that rock with his own hands-his brute force-like John Henry, and finally he had been able to break free.

Flaz just yawned. “Your idea is inherently boring,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

“How is making a sculpture of a woman a failure?” said Uwe, chipping silently at his rock.

“Come on man, why don’t you just go out and fuck somebody?” said Flaz.

It took three thousand and four hundred and thirty-three years all by himself. Finally, Flaz walked in. “Done, are you?” he asked.

Uwe didn’t even notice. His last etch…had been epic. The way he finally captured Her true form with a single strike. With a single infliction upon stone, upon clay, upon earth. This was Her.

“I want to be a stone too,” said Flaz, smiling as he sidled next to the Great Sculpture. “And I will put my finger on it. Here.”

Uwe panicked as he noticed the actual coordinates upon which Flaz was putting the finger. With only slight progression, his Beauty could be toppled.

“We will stay like this forever,” smiled Flaz brilliantly, “in this pose. The sculptor and his best friend.”

“You bastard,” said Uwe. “End it.”

“Topple it over?”

Uwe breathed in. “Yes.”

“You know what would happen,” said Flaz. “She would shatter, and there would be these…microseconds of hurt, for you.” He shook his head. “I will not do that to you.”

“You speak as if you know it.”

“Oh, I know It,” said Flaz happily.

“Topple it. Push it over. Hell, take it in thy arms and fling it!” cried Uwe.

“No,” said Flaz, sadly. “It is only me who knows the microseconds of hurt. You are exempted. You and your ‘thees’ and ‘thines’.”

Utterances and curses came from the sculptor, the brawn, the actual earthy, touchy-feely goodness of man that was Uwe. Then, even more curses.

“Lolz,” laughed Flaz, “I am going to pose like this forever in front of Her, your Masterpiece.”