Prompt Two: Bad
Something to be Proud of
"No, no, no!" I scream, throwing the pot against the wall. The clay shatters on impact, and falls in a hundred pieces to the concrete floor, which breaks a couple of them even more. Why do I even bother? Everything I make now is just…so…bad.
I sink to the floor and sob, hugging myself into a little ball. Only a few months ago, I was able to produce pieces that I was proud of, that I wanted people to see. And now, it's all horribly bad. The clay is cracked, the glaze was incomplete, the kiln was too high or too low, everything about these pieces I make is vile. I can't take much more of this.
It takes a while to compose myself, but I eventually manage it. Getting to my feet, I go over to the remains of the pot and begin to gather the pieces together with my hands. It doesn't even occur to me to use a broom.
I'm not paying that much attention, like my body's been set on autopilot, so I'm not exactly being careful, either. This becomes abundantly evident when I feel a sharp stinging pain in my left hand as the sharp edge of a large shard slices through the length of my palm. I drop the piece immediately, as a reflex, and it comes away bloody. Trying not to cry again, I leave the pottery room and head for the nurse.
On the way, I see Shû- sensei walking towards me, going in the opposite direction. I hope he doesn't notice me; I don't know how I'll be able to handle people right now.
But, he spots me, soon after I see him, and, smiling, he jogs over. "Ayu!" he calls happily.
All I can do is nod.
As he gets closer, he sees my expression, and his grin falls. "What's the matter?" he asks, concerned. Then he notices my hand. "Oh, shit. How did that happen?"
It's not a really serious cut. It looks a lot worse than it is, because it's huge, but it isn't deep. It stings a lot, but I'd rather have the physical pain than deal with the emotional one right now.
I shrug. "I cut myself."
He frowns. "Obviously. Here, come on, we need to get it washed out."
"I was going to the nurse," I protest.
"She's going to say the same thing, so we might as well save her the step," he insists, before leading me to his office.
"Now," he says, preparing a cloth to clean my hand, "do you want to tell me what's going on?"
No, I don't. But for some reason, I do anyway.
"I can't do it anymore, Sensei. I can't."
"Can't do what?" he asks, kindly, crouching down so that he can start washing my cut.
I flinch back from the sting, but try not to pull away. "I can't do art anymore. It's bad. Everything I do is just terrible. It's like the ability has left me."
Shû-sensei shakes his head, thinking about what I said. "What do you mean, it's bad?"
"Just what I say. It's horrible. Nothing I do now I can even stand to look at. I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Every artist goes through this type of slump," he says. "Don't worry, your mojo will come back soon."
I shake my head. "This is different. You should see how bad it is."
His mouth quirks up a bit in one corner, as if he's fighting a smile. "Here's what I think; take a break. Don't quit, but take a break from pottery for a while. You'll feel better, and produce better pieces once you're well-rested."
Ha, yeah right. Take a break. I'm going to keep working my ass off until something decent comes from these hands. "Maybe I will."
He smiles for real, and wraps a clean towel around my hand. But then it slowly fades. "Ayu," he says. "You didn't do this to your hand on purpose, did you?"
What? I shake my head. "No, Sensei. I threw a pot, and cut myself picking up the pieces."
He nods thoughtfully. "Well, like I said, I think you need a break. Go ahead and see the nurse now."
I nod. "Thanks, Sensei," I say, despite knowing that I will never, ever take a break. I'll work my way through this, and, eventually, if I don't kill myself first, I'll produce a piece to be proud of.