“The Sculpture and the asker”

By William Saunders

A Scholastic Honorable Mention

In the forest there lies the ruins of an old sculpture, the smell of rust was strongest near the ruin, but you could still make out the smell of forest and ash. When touched the sculpture sat still, the ash on its submerged conicular shape falling off. The metal had collapsed at the top where someone had once stood, a tree growing through the gap. A man stood looking up at the ruined sculpture, he walked around before moving closer to me, he looked me up and down, at least what's left of me, my stone legs had crumbled and someone had leaned me against a tree looking forward not up. 

“What are you?” He asked.

With silence I answered,  it was all I could do.

“What stories do you have?”

My silence lasted though I wished to speak. The man looked over to where I used to be, a small concrete foundation and one of my legs was all that remained.

“Oh you have been moved, and now you watch the forest instead of the sky. Your story is long, no one now would build you, no one now was here before, whatever it was you saw. Well my friend, maybe one day you will tell us what you saw.” and he left. The ash turned to snow, the snow to grass, the grass to ash again and countless changes later a forest grew out of the ash, and finally a home out of the ruin.  I wondered who the story asker was, but he was just one of many who found me; he however was the best guesser. Eventually I will crumble, what will I be then? What am I now? What was I all those years ago staring at the sky? 

What is an end?