Short story: Breathless


It was cold in the studio, breath steaming, her fingers frozen rigid around the chisel. The mallet beat a rhythm and the chisel moved, but she was simply the conduit for the metal point and the stone; even if her eyes were shut, she felt sure that the fossilised lovers would be uncovered – hidden in the centre of the creamy white interior for 145 million years.

When enough of their secret had been revealed, when they could breathe once more, she put down her tools and went indoors. Time to get warm and carve some words.


This week Rochelle Wisoff-Fields chose a photograph of one of my sculptures for our Friday Fictioneers writing prompt. I’m really excited to see what stories come out of it. To join in or, or to read everyone else’s stories, click here.

This is a limestone sculpture I did some time ago and the picture was taken when I was about half-way through the carving. The black ‘heart’ on the side is simply me working out in charcoal the shape of the sculpture as I go along – you can also see black lines on the one of the face’s eyebrow and eye lid, which show me where to carve.