The block of marble was so frightened.
It all started with the sound of shovels. Then, it was exposed to — sunlight! So bright! Next came the saws, and hammers and chisels.
No! The pain! The marble was fractured and cut and splintered. The block was separated from itself — lifted out with ropes — taken from the heart of the earth.
A wagon ride. A city. A building. A large room.
This man was in charge. They called him Master, and a Sculptor, and an Artist.
He set up mirrors all around the block of marble. The marble could see itself in the mirrors in every direction. The chisel marks — and the marks of the saw! It knew that it had become ugly. It was separated from everything it had ever known, separated from itself, marred forever. There was no hope. No possibility that it could ever return to its home in the heart of the earth.
The Sculptor wasn’t hateful. In fact, he caressed the marble with one hand as he walked around it, looking at every inch. He was smiling, and humming a joyous tune. The marble knew it was ugly, and yet the marble saw the Sculptor enjoying it, looking at it with admiring eyes.
But there was more pain! The chisel! Here it comes!