This is just my spoof on the classic Greek myth of Pygmalion. I am certain all the names are Greek, and all have some sort of special meaning to them. So, before you go about reading this, you might find it helpful to look at the names I've chosen, along with their meanings in order to fully understand them….
Andreas-Manly
Maia-The maker
Clio-The Muse of history
Melpomene- The Muse of Tragedy
The Fates
Clotho-Spun the thread of life
Lachesis-Measured the thread of life
Atropos-Cut the thread of life
Okay….you're done now….
The Creation of Fire
Maia had not stepped out into the light of the world for three months straight. For the past twelve weeks, her time and energy had been dedicated to her dark room at the far end of the family house. There were no windows to let in Apollo's warm sunlight, only the dim glow of old candles illuminated the damp room.
Despite the constant plea of the logic in her mind to rest, she continued to work harder than ever at the things she most loved to do. She had grown pale, and white from lack of sun, and her meals consisted of a peace of bread and half a glass of wine from the ripe and rich vineyard outside. But even this, such a meager meal, was often left untouched, as she remained lost in the work she had dedicated herself to.
Maia was a sculptor, to the extent that she rarely did anything else. Endless supplies of marble lay scattered around her feet, along with picks and brushes tossed upon the silk fabric on a table. One tattered couch sat in the corner, to provide a pathetic substitute for a bed when the ardor of her work had worn her out completely. But this was covered in dust and webs, for she had not slept in weeks.
It had been no less than three months ago that day that Maia had been visited by the Fates, imploring her to carve a man. She had done this many times before, to pull up marble, and create a person. She often made them pretty, with the slights of imperfection to make them human. Then, the Fates would take it, and create it a life with their magic thread.
There were few artisans allowed to live and work in the world past their time. She had been granted a home upon a high mountain near what used to be Argos. Time had passed; the world of the Greeks had been taken over. She had seen much. Or, she would have, had it not been for her constant work in the darkness of her solitude. Years, centuries, decades had passed. Maia was lost in time.
Over the time she was there, Maia had grown lonely, something that she would have never felt had it not been for her constant solitude. She worked on the man asked for by the Fates, but her heart was not in it, as before. It was taken, along with the other statues, and she was left alone once again.
An idea came to her one day, as she sat along the wall, brows furrowed. She would carve a man out of her best marble. Not for the Fates, but for herself. She would create a companion. Her statues had always been real enough to her; life in the stone would not be needed. Mind made up, she began to work.
Day after day she worked, calloused hands become even rougher with the fervent work. Knife and scalpel, pick and brush, she carved the hands, held them and lovingly chiseled out the lines of the knuckles, and the curve of the nails. She kissed the white marble lips, and picked at the curves of the cheeks. Day in and day out, she didn't sleep, and hardly ate. Any attention on herself was thrust away, as she worked diligently, her hands seemingly moving on their own.
At last, now, three months later, twelve weeks later, ninety days later, she was finished. Any touch now upon the statue would ruin it. Weak, pale, and exhausted, Maia fell to her couch, and in an instant was asleep.
The artisan awoke three days later, famished, but revived. Upon the opening of her eyes, she beheld her creation.
The marble shone in the candle light, casting rays of the strange glow across the room. Her pick and chisel had carved out the smallest details, down to the creases of his vest and the folds of his shirt. His face was thin, and perfectly carved, not a scratch or an imperfection upon it. The hair was slightly loose, hanging just barely over the nape of his elegant neck, each strand distinguished separate from the rest. The image of perfection.
Maia sat in awe of her work for what seemed an eternity. She couldn't believe such a thing could have been carved. Finally, she stood, and walked over to it, circling it, eyes wide. It seemed to her, not marble or stone, but a man. It was a man capable of walking, of talking, or sitting down and curving his perfect lips into a smile her direction. His head was held up at a high angle, and he did not smile, but watched in mild interest the world around him, perfect eyes looking, but not seeing in the least.
If the young girl had ever wished for anything in her entire existence, it was for this carving to become a true man. Any previous knowledge of the needlessness of this was thrown from her brain, as she embraced the cold marble. Of all the riches in all the world, she wished with her whole heart, so recently unfrozen, for his to embrace her back. Falling away from the carving, she fell to her knees beside the couch, and looked to the heavens in hopes of help.
"Clotho, Atropos, Lachesis, I beg thee to come down from thy home, and aid the humble sculptor who has served you for so long."
In an instant, there was a shimmering in the area beside the statue, and three dark cloaked figures appeared in the room.
"You call us Maia? What is it that you desire?"
Before the youth had a chance to answer, Clotho caught site of the beautiful statue, and gazed at it in awe.
"Is this your work child?"
"It is. I have spent much time carving the man. It is because of this work I have called you."
"You wish," Lachesis hissed, coming to her side, "For Clotho to spin him life?"
"More than anything in the world."
Atropos watched as Maia looked up at the women, silently pleading. Her lip curled up in a small smile.
"To give him life is to give him away."
"To give him life is to appease my unhappiness."
The crones huddled together, silently discussing the maiden's request. Such a thing was formerly unheard of, the giving of life without specific request of the gods.
"We do have need of such a man, far upon the European shores."
"Would he be suitable."?
Clotho cast an appeasing look towards the statue, and then back to the group.
"He seems to do nicely."
"Than we consent?"
"Yes."
During this while, Maia had taken her place with the cold man, adoringly looking over him. When the huddle broke, she spun around with desperately anxious eyes.
"Will you?"
"Very well, we agree."
Clotho took the string from her cloak, and spun it upon the large spinning wheel she had set beside her. Golden thread was extended, whereupon Atropos measured out the length.
"He will not live long. A flower, crushed in its youth."
She strung it, and took it from the spindle. It extended less than the length of her arms, and was thin with its color.
"This man will be alone most of his life, though not physically. He will be loved by many, yet love no one. His allegiance shall remain steadfast to the harshest of all mistresses. It will be she that kills him."
Such an unhappy fate struck Maia, and she cast a sorrowful look towards her creation, than back to the Fates. Still, they continued their frightening prediction.
"He will be blessed by Apollo, and guarded by Clio, that his death will be remembered among that of the greatest. Politics and socialist knowledge shall be his echo, and he will aspire to change the world."
"And he will succeed?"
Clotho lowered her head to peer up at Maia through the glassy eye. A sinister look came upon the area, as she hissed.
"He will fail."
The Fates laughed, and then with a spark, disappeared.
Maia fell upon the statue, weeping for the creation she had so fervently loved. But the marble began to melt under her fingers. And in an instant, it was gone. The Fates had given him life, and yet a life that none want to live if given a choice.
The grieving was interrupted by the entrance of Melpomene, who sat upon the couch beside Maia.
"I have overheard the Fates talking. You have created the perfect man?"
"I have, and given him a horrid life."
"It shan't be too horrid. He will be remembered forever, as my sister has told me."
"As one who failed at his only hope.
"As one who loved humanity.
"It doesn't matter now."
"Have you given him a name?"
"I named him Andreas."
"It hardly fits the time he shall live in."
Maia looked up at Melpomene, and pursed her lips.
"I shall give him a noble name, of one who shall strive to meet the perfection that I have struggled so hard to create. His name shall be Julien."
"And his last?"
"Enjolras."