The clay was hard to find. All the dirt around here is soil or sand, I couldn’t just dig for it. I had to mail order artist’s clay, but I guess that’s good: it’s high quality, takes a shape well. Two months to carve her. Just take away everything that doesn’t look like Jean, heh. Sorry, morbid sense of humor.
I’ve memorized the invocation. If I get it just right, clay becomes flesh…
It’ll cost me my eternal soul, but I’ll have Jean back. It wouldn’t be worth living without her. If only I could have found an anti-cancer spell…
I do that a lot: end with the zinger. I keep writing towards that last line, like it's a 'punch line', but dramatic. There has to be a word for that. Writers? Anyone? Bueller?
ReplyDeleteAnyhow, I'll try not to be so predictable...