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With a loud, dry crack, the doors of the long abandoned shelter were shattered open. Many decades had passed since any instance of light had been released into this realm. This space, my space, was now being invaded. Am I to be moved again? Am I to be torn away from the only place I can call my belonging? Not that there is much of an importance to such a home. I have no memories but those of being stagnant for almost four decades. So where am I off to now?

The last big event of my life was being ripped from my home, the mountains of Carrera, and then carved and shaped by many various beings into this simple block of marble. It seems I had lost my use after the main artist ceased to come about and look upon me. “Had he passed away?” I asked myself as a few shapes began to form in the blinding light ahead of me. The answer I will never know, but maybe another being has chosen to bring more meaning to my shape.

As I was loaded onto a cart, I wondered what my new purpose was going to be. It seemed strange that I didn’t have any control over my life. “Maybe no creature does,” I thought to myself. “Or maybe I am alone as a mere element of nature.” The cart then began to move, and I felt a sudden rushing sensation. Moving was something I wasn’t very accustomed to, and I soon became bewildered as various earthy objects passed by me at increasing speeds. I continued to ponder, as I often do, and came upon a query, ” I wonder if someone has taken up the task of changing me into something worth-while?”

When the cart came to a rest, I was slowly and cautiously taken into a wide and tall building with rough stone floors. There stood a mantle with various stone-carving tools, and I was soon left alone as my transporters abandoned the empty area. I excitingly thought to myself, “How magnificent this is for a shelter, I wonder if I will indeed become the focus of a grand project.” As I gazed across the room, I noticed other pieces of stone like me, which had seemed to take some real form. One piece in particular looked as one of those two-legged creatures trying to reach out and escape from its surrounding unfinished self. I soon felt that I could relate, for I now became quite eager in my hopes to become something of significance. I would choose if I could to be a great symbol, one that would remain intact for hundreds of years, as I could watch the progress of the world about me. I would represent many things and bring cheer to the sentient creatures about me. As my continuous hopes raged on, day became night, and I soon could see no more of the world before me.

Dawn came and I awoke from the shuddering sound of hard metal against harder stone. Looking about I saw no sign of any movement, but the deafening sound only seemed to grow louder. When the sound soon became utterly unavoidable, I noticed that I was the focal point of the noise. It seemed someone was testing how hard my stone was and choosing which tools to use upon me. I grew weak with anticipation in hopes that this meant I would be worked upon. Such an honor it was to become something so unforgettable, as the stories so told among my fellow stones. So, on this creature (or human as I had been told) went until he seemed content with his work. He looked the young age of twenty-five, and seemed rather experienced in his thorough observations. This man consciously noticed the workings of my previous artist, and made an effort to smooth out these blemishes.

The beginning (or so I thought) of the project started now, and he efficiently made a rough outline of what figure I was to become. It seemed that I was to be two-legged as him, but quite massive in size. Thirteen to fifteen feet was the outline, and the shoulders seemed broad in their sketch. Anything outside of the outline was soon carved away into a smoothly surfaced body. Muscular and confident was its stance. Soon I would feel comfortable enough to say that this was my stance, but I seemed strangely alienated by such a rapid transformation. “Would I like my new figure?” I pondered to myself. It was too late for worry, as I had no control over my life. This man was sculpting out the very essence of my being, making the permanent form of my immortality. My soul as you would have it was emerging at this very moment. At the same time however, a small part of this man was being expressed and left upon me. This portion was intertwining with me as an individual, perhaps the birth of my true existence, or the mixing of our souls. Perhaps I could love this man if there were such a concept, and hopefully this man will grow to love me.

The frontal half of my body was completed, and I was exceptionally pleased with the look of it. I felt strapping as I looked down upon my hard laborer. In my left hand I held a slingshot with a sizeable rock inside of it. My right hand relaxed, I was generally tense in preparation for something. But what could I be so emotional about? Perhaps I was preparing for one of those violent activities, battles as they call them. Either way, the look on my face revealed a true cleverness and courage. I seemed to look down upon the world without fear.

Upon completion of my ever straightly standing back, the artist stopped his work and observed me. He looked to make sure that every intricate detail was included. Indeed I was a naked man who stood strong and tall. I was courageous and clever; I was detailed to such an extent that more of my body, my veins, my muscles, and my hair showed than on any other man I had ever seen! I was real, true, and almost alive as one of them. With no speech however, I could not express my joy but only reveal what the artist had indicated to. He was the “god” in this picture, he created as he could destroy, and maintained complete control over anything I was to convey.

I was placed in some center; some middle point of surrounding structures and homes. I was in a place where everyone could look upon me. So they did, and they did it in such awe that tears of bliss would form upon their faces. I too would have cried upon looking in the mirror, as I was such a masterpiece. Still, today, I am immortal, and never to be forgotten. I am as every Greek wished to be, and stand for what the city of Florence will always need. Courage and victory!

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