By E. Amato
Stone
Everywhere I go, I see them. The greedy ones. They chase sun and they chase fun and they linger with
longing looks. They laugh too much and they don’t cry enough as far as I’m concerned.
For me, it is an affront, an insult. How much do they need. How much can they take? I have asked for
nothing, except my freedom, which I have fought for my entire life.
It took me 620 years to see the ocean.
It took me another 217 to ride my first bike.
I was stone. I was left for dead. Life sprang up around me, but no one would unleash me. I was hungry.
Not for food. I didn’t require food, I required zest. Experience. I craved action. What the living had was
foreign to me. I was trapped. Did I say that already?
It was not as if it had always been that way. It had been different. Once. I remember being a small girl,
small, and playing, I had plaits in my hair and I ran around in circles chasing dragonflies. But then that
was over. I left my father’s house and went to a man. This man had eccentricities. He was old and not
beautiful. I belonged to him. He made me into a woman he desired. He did what he pleased. I lived as I
lived. There were fine things and there was a big house, but all was cold and empty. I wanted to be out of
the house, but I was not allowed. I started into the garden, yet was never able to go outside. I’d beg him to
let me stand in the grass. “One day,” he said, “one day, I will die and you will have more of the garden
than you ever wanted.”
It was true. One day he died. He died. He was very, very sick. Right before, just before he died, a man
came to me and said that my husband had one final wish to be carried out in that moment. One wish I
must oblige. This man took me out to the garden. I was thrilled – my husband’s dying wish was to set me
free. The man helped me onto a pedestal. I could see for ages all around, the sky and trees and flowers; it
was gorgeous. Then he handed me a chalice, a lovely cup and bade me drink it. I did. And in that
moment, I felt it going through my body and a hardening occurred it was as if liquid rock were pouring
through my body. I dropped the cup and I tried to crane my neck to see it roll away but I could not. In that
moment, I was simply turned to stone.
And there I stayed. My life force was sent into my husband’s already dead body to revive him. I watched
him bring in another wife, and another. This lasted for centuries, until the magic itself was lost and he also
passed away.
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THE CONE - ISSUE #5 - SUMMER 2015