Twisted Bronze Arms

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx 3000)

I couldn’t keep still. Despite twisted bronze metal for my arms and legs and glittering sapphires for my eyes, I found ways to shift my body into unnatural positions. The statue on the other side of the iron gates and rusted portcullis turned his face, just slightly, so he couldn’t see and though I scoffed and called to him to join me, he refused to even acknowledge my existence.

That was what happened when built second. Second best, second born. I’d heard that somewhere, somehow. Probably one of the artisans as they’d melted and molded my body into shape. A shape I immediately slouched off in favor of more comfortable positions, because I did not want to spend all eternity standing with my arms outstretched as if welcoming refugees to clamber over my limbs.

Some days I whirled around and leaned upon the wall to enjoy examining the tiny city dwellers who spent most of their time eating and sleeping or finding ways to irritate one another. I assumed there were many things I didn’t get to see go on when they were inside their homes and businesses, but my curiosity didn’t extend to those things. Thus, I stood outside that gate on a pedestal for a long while before I discovered one of their more wondrous secrets.

It happened at night, while I’d been attempting to morph my stiff body into a dance move I’d seen a young girl perform in the street a few days prior. The two guards hurried up the staircase and plastered themselves to the left of the doorway of the watchtower. Head level. Continue reading →