Ok a little banter before the story. I have never written this genre of short story, I have never written in the 2nd Person Perspective, and I'm not sure I like this story. It was just an interesting test my friend gave me so tell me what you think. This is ultimately a rough draft, started at 2 am ended at 3 am. Harsh C&C welcome ---------- It's the feeling you get in those last moments, the rush, the knowledge that you are creating something beautiful, it's that feeling that tells you; you are an artist. You wake up in the morning and begin your ceremony. The coffee brews slowly in the kitchen, the beautiful aroma entices you, and the music plays in the background, each note caressing your ears. But all the while, you can't stop thinking about it; your artwork, your masterpiece. It will be a masterpiece and you know it. You sip on your coffee carefully planning it all out. Each angle perfectly traced in your brain. By the time you are finished with your coffee you know exactly what you're going to do. With your masterpiece in mind you slowly head to the studio, swaying your head in time with the music. It's almost euphoric. You open the studio door and the light bombards you. It takes you a second as you shield your eyes, but then you smile. You see it. Your masterpiece. It's beautiful; it breathes emotion into your soul. The anticipation builds up even more. It starts in your gut and slowly moves throught out your entire body. Soon you feel like you can't even breath, and thats when you know, it's time to begin. You hold your breath and reach down for your chisel. It's hard exterior feels welcoming in your hand, it sings to you, begging you to begin. It knows the feeling as well as you. You're about to sculpt the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. They said you were no good, but what did they know? You ARE a sculpter, you are an artist, and you will prove it. You rub your hands across your masterpiece, slowly, it's smooth features quietly inviting you to work. You study it for a moment, it would feel the pain you felt, and it would turn it into beauty. You take another slow breath and being to work. Each notch transfers pain into beauty. You see the pain; it's dark. You feel the pain; the warmth of it rushes through your fingers. You hear the pain; the silent cry for salvation. Through the excitement, through the pleasure you still work slowly, making sure that every notch is perfect. And with each notch, the piece slowly comes to life. It transforms from nothing into everything. It screams your pain, and you scream back. You cry when it cries, you become one with your work. And when the time comes, you stand up and place your chisel down, feeling the reluctant cry from your chisel. It wants to continue, it needs to continue, but you know that you are finally finished. It's been hours but the masterpiece is done. You whipe the sweat off of your forehead. The feeling rises in you again. You are an artist, you made your masterpiece, and it was beautiful. With a sigh you begin to head back out of the studio. As the flip the lights back off you can't help but wonder about your next masterpiece. Would it be as beautiful as this one? In the dark cold studio lies your masterpiece. Bloody, mangled, and beautiful. There lies your wife's body; dead and broken. The pain you felt permanently etched in her body, and her pain permanently frozen on her face. You destroyed her, made her feel your pain, but you don't care. She was your masterpiece.....and you are an artist.