A Short Story – “Cube of Marble”

A stolen piece of history. Of course he had no idea what it had meant at the time, or that it would have angered those that pushed his fate around so much. He had been but a child when he had taken the last piece of an ancient statue, leaving it incomplete. To him, the nearly perfect cube of marble had seemed wondrous to his young mind, it’s smoothness and coolness comfortable in his hand. What he didn’t know was that now the statue was incomplete, and with that came consequences that he would not be aware of for years to come.

Of all of his possessions that he owned, it was the only thing that managed to stick with him his whole life. He could never understand why it seemed to be the only thing that he could not lose. That hunk of stone managed to always find its way back to him. For some time he thought that it was meant for him, until it was time for him to live on his own.

The worst effects of the curse he had been shielded from because of the protections his parents gave him, but once he had left their home, the life that had seemed okay turned sour. One tragedy after another befell him, friends turned on him, or worse, perished. His family fell apart, and his belongings, save for the stone, were lost piecemeal from fire, theft, and malicious destruction at the hands of enemies that seemed to appear from thin air, with vanishingly thin motivations.

Years passed, and he grew closer to the stone, as when he saw it, he did not see the curse, or the incomplete statue, but saw the only faithful companion that he had in his life, and he clutched tighter to that thread of familiarity to ride out the stormy, cursed seas that he was navigating.

Of course he was not totally blind to the nagging that he felt, somewhere in the back of his head. The whole day that he had gotten it had fled his memory years ago, except that fateful moment. Seeing the stone, its perfect shape so slightly extruded from the base of the marble figure. The moment where he wrapped his childish fingers around the carved stone, and it delicately slid out into his hands, and after a moment or two of admiring the sheer perfection of the masonry, slipping it into his pocket.

The only way to possibly fix what remained of his life was to return the stone to its rightful place, to appease the entities who were so determined to ruin his short life for ruining their eternal image. Each day that passed seemed give the gleaming white cube a darker aura, and he thought that he could feel the the curse strengthening, attempting to either destroy him or to drive him back to returning it to its home.

It would not be easy however, as fate had stripped him of his means, and had carried him thousands of miles from his destination, and decades from his initial memory. Would he still even be able to find it? After losing the person he had loved the most, he could no longer fight it. He would return the stone.

He sold the handful of things that he owned, in the meager life that he had managed to cobble together against the effects of the curse, to travel across the sea, to the ancient peninsula where it was taken from.

The journey across the sea was long and difficult, but he arrived in one piece. The stone that had been so infinitely cold was reacting, it knew it was getting close to returning, and was now warm with excitement. He followed ancient roads through ancient cities, covered in a patina of modernity, through mountains and forests, searching for a spark of familiarity, or a sign from the stone itself of where he needed to go. The stone however, remained silent, continuing to grow warmer.

Fountains, statues, temples and monuments he passed, figures of myth and legend, though it felt far more real and looming now than it ever had. He was amazed at the sites that he saw, but none seemed to be the right place.

One day, he traveled through a forest, and the road ended. It was a long way back, so he decided to press on through the trees. Soon though, he found himself lost, the thick canopy of leaves above him obscuring the heavens. Then, a cool mist seemed to blanket the forest floor, limiting his world to as far as he could reach. As he pressed forward, the mist seemed to press in further, the air becoming thick and choking. At the same time, the stone had become hot, so much so that he could barely stand to hold it. He continued to press on blindly, becoming frantic as the forming wall around him threatened to crush him.

Just as he was about to collapse, he broke into a clearing in the fog, and the trees. The evening light filtered into the clearing, and he felt that he was in the right place. The stone was once again its cool, constant, self. He looked across the clearing and saw the statue, the memory that had been dim in the back of his head flared to life with recognition. Terror and anxiety, dread and fear, as he realized the disparity. For thousands of years the statue had stood perfectly, gleaming in white marble. Now though, it was damaged and weather-worn, cracked and flawed, with small piles of rubble that had formed around its large, cubic base.

He wept for the destruction that he had wrought on something so perfect and pure, understanding that his single careless move had wrought this consequence. He threw himself in front of the statue, prostrate, and after a few minutes of searching, found the hole that his hands had formed when he was a child. He pulled the stone from his pack, and stared at it. He ran his fingers over its perfect surface, feeling the smooth cold stone, and how much he had been through with it. For even just a moment, he considered that the curse may have all been imagined, and that they could leave now, his one treasure still in hand.

This was folly though, and he knew it. Defeated, he carefully slid the stone back into place, until it was pressed smoothly back into place. He felt relief that he had come so far, and that he had succeeded in returning the stone. Then, he felt nothing. He was unsure of what to do now, as there was little left where he’d come from, but this had seemed to be so straightforward and simple. He sat on a fallen log, and stared at the statue for a while.

Soon, he noticed a small light coming from the stone that he had returned. The light started as a pinpoint, but quickly grew until it consumed the whole statue, and blinded him. When the light had gone, the statue was restored to its perfect form, gleaming in the evening rays. He felt the dark cloud lift from him, but he was still without direction, so he went home and lived his life as best as he knew how.

It was far from a perfect life, and he still suffered a number of tragedies, which always made him wonder if he was still cursed, or if he was not, how much worse it would be with the stone that had been such a longtime companion to him.