Volcanic Black
I am Volcanic Black. My life is miserable. I sleep and I wake up and I sleep and I wake up. No water can I drink or I shall melt. No food can I eat for I have no mouth. I do not breathe nor live nor die but I have a birth. Oh, yes, a birth is one of the few things that I do have. And it is one of the few things that I celebrate, too.
You see, I celebrate only certain things because I have not any clue to what humans celebrate. I've always wanted to be one, to be able to walk and move and talk like them, but something tells me that I would not like it one bit. I half agree. Being a human would require housework (whatever that is; I only heard about it once when I human walked by me and mentioned it to another person.), childcare, and a lot of other spontaneous things I have never heard of.
I celebrate three things: my birthday, the non-holiday days (almost everyday), and the days I get pieces of me chipped off. The reason I celebrate the non-holiday days is because I get more of a chance of dying those days. More humans come visit my home when they are not celebrating inside. I want to get smashed because my life is miserable. I am ugly, puny, and uninteresting. When people walk by, they take no notice of me. They think I am a rock but I am not. I am a piece of coal molded from a volcanic accident. Children pick up other rocks and put them in their pockets but not me. I am just a normal, disfigured lump of coal that no one wants to take home. No child will ever lift me off the ground and show me to their mother asking, "May I please keep this gorgeous looking rock for my collection and so that it will not be lonely out here with no friends." No, not one single child has done that for over three hundred years and no child will ever do it in the future.
But now I see a man coming up the path. He has silver hair and a long beard. He has dark skin and moon shaped glasses. He wears a tan jacket and regular pants with tennis shoes. He is an older man so I try to bow but no movement do I make except a slight tip with the help of the wind.
But the man notices it. No wait. He notices...me...
I can't believe the eyes that I don't have. That man is walking towards me;miserable old me. I don't understand why! But yet, I do. A little, old man- nothing more- is coming closer to me. I suppose that this is the day where I die. Perhaps I should celebrate before my fate. But, I can't seem to do it. I never understood why I always wanted to die. Maybe because I had a horrible life, but where would I go? Heaven isn't for repulsive rocks like me, is it? No, heaven could not allow me beyond its gates. That place is too perfect. I will probably go to hell where I can go back to being lava. At least I will be a little more beautiful but still I will strike fear into other people's hearts. Either way, I'm sure that hell is better than this life...
Until he picks me up.
He holds me gently, weighing me in one of his old, wasted hands. He tosses me to the other and back again; probably making sure I'm not ash and won't break easily. I don't think I will pass the test; he will drop me back onto the rocky mountain's surface. But that's not what he's doing at all. In fact, he's doing just the opposite.
He puts me into his sack and walks the other way.
I feel for sure that there is a mistake. How can anyone so lowly like me be taken by a perfect, soon-to-be angel? I don't have a clue, so I stop thinking until we get to the man's workshop.
Inside, he sets me onto a table along with other rocks. I roll out of the sack and am amazed. All of the other rocks are crystals, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. They shimmer in the light like stars and I feel helpless. Surely he will see the mistake that he made now, and smash me to pieces. I don't see a hammer around, though, nor an ax, nor an anvil.
But I do see a chisel. I wonder what it is for.
The man picks me up again and sets me on another table. He also takes the chisel. With it, he slits me open, cutting me to the core. I really feel horrible now. He is killing me nice and slow. Though, it doesn't hurt. It feels good, actually; really good.
I fall asleep. I dream about being a beautiful sparkling crystal like the ones on the other table. I glitter and shimmer and I am beautiful. Truly, for the first time, I am beautiful.
When I wake up, I look around. I am back on the table with the other jewels. They stare at me like I am something special, like I am something amazing beyond compare. But I know better. I couldn't be that perfect...could I?
One of the rubies nods toward an ax nearby. I look at it. I see my reflection. I don't realize it. I don't know how or why, but it's true. I am beautiful. I am clear and glassy and a crystal. I sparkle. I shimmer. I glitter. I am beautiful. This man has made me wonderful. He has gotten to my core; my true core. I recognize him. He is my creator. He is my King and my God. He is God. And he made me beautiful even when I knew I wasn't.
I am now Volcanic Wonder.