Statue

I felt the toppling of the statue behind me, I felt it spiral as the rope around its neck pulled it headfirst into the concrete below. Life, as they say, finds a way, and it has found within itself the strength to take down the stone facsimiles raised in its honour.

The statue’s features are scraped clear as it is pulled along the rough ground, leaving trails of stone dust in its wake. Those dragging it behind them cheer, exulting in the lost of innocence that such an act provides. Flowers are thrown down on the trail to cover the smell of decay.

Soon the ones pulling the ropes stop, tired, and the statue stops with them. Feet crash into its sides, chipping chunks free from the cracked surface. Life takes on the dead. The smooth worn face is sprayed purple, the feet a deep red that fades the further up it reaches.

Eventually, everyone else tires and quietly fades into the side streets. The statue is left, alone with itself.