The Carnival of Dreams – Pt. 3

Hard Hearted

George was a miser, worse than Scrooge who, by comparison, would seem like Mother Teresa. Of course he didn’t see himself that way. To him, he was just a good business man doing his job. Nothing more, nothing less. At 56, he had never found love, except the love of money. He had no compassion in him, easily sending a person to jail for missing a small payment without a second thought. Cold and hard.

One night as George was travelling back to his meager lodgings after a satisfying day of foreclosures – he wouldn’t even spend any of his considerable wealth on himself to be comfortable – he came upon a brightly lit carnival. He hadn’t been to one since he was a boy so he decided he would stop and check it out. He had plenty of time. Nobody was waiting for him.

This one was very old fashioned - no fancy rides. Better yet, there was no fee to enter. George wandered among the people, checking out the many attractions. Here was a tent with a sign saying “DESIRE”, there a booth that sold love potions. Bah. Desire and love potions. Such nonsense. None attracted George’s attention until he came to a tent proclaiming “ART”.

Interesting, he thought. I might be able to find a valuable piece at a small fraction of the cost here. So he entered.

The inside resembled an artist’s studio rather than the display showcase he had imagined. There were easels with half-finished canvases, looms that had partial tapestries, potter’s wheels with nothing but lumps of clay waiting to be worked. Life-like statues stood along one side of the studio with blocks of untouched marble among them.

As George stood there transfixed by the statues, a rather haggard elderly woman dressed in an artist’s smock came in.

“I see you like my children,” she said. “They are my best work. Lovingly sculpted to get just the right effect.”

She sat near one of the marble blocks, sizing it as if she were going to start sculpting, glancing at George as she did so. He felt a cold shiver go throughout his body.

“Are any of them for sale?” George inquired. “I know of….”

She interrupted him. “No, my creations are not for sale. They serve a far different purpose than as mere art.”

She produced a very strange tool from within the pockets of her smock and began to mold the marble. Yes, mold, not chisel as one usually did with marble. As soon as she started, his clothes dissolved from his body.

She started at the base where she formed feet. George tried to get a better look at what she was doing, attempting to move closer. His couldn’t move! No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to move. There was something about this woman that terrified him. She continued working. She was now up to the mid-section of the statue. He hadn’t noticed before but when he looked at the statue again, there was a familiarity about the feet and legs. He took a glance down at his own legs. Wait - the legs and feet he was seeing were different. They didn’t look like his anymore. They looked… younger, longer, and more muscular. They were completely smooth.

Oh, God. What is happening to me? He started to panic.

Again he looked at the statue she was sculpting. The statue had his legs, down to the last detail!

“Stop. Please, stop,” George pleaded with her. “I’ll pay you anything; just stop doing this to me.”

“Too late for that, George.” Wait. How did she know his name?

She had completed the torso so only the arms and head remained to be molded. He looked down at himself, afraid to see what had happened. Curiosity got the better of him. His rather modest package had been replaced by an impressive young cock much larger than his old one, his pecs two modest slabs of carved muscle, and his torso longer and leaner, showing no signs of flab anywhere… and no hair. He could feel his arms become powerful as she continued.

She now was working the head. George could feel hair growing from his bald pate, his facial features shifting and changing. She had made a statue of him and had replaced his body with another. The old woman rolled a mirror in front of him. He gazed aghast at a perfectly sculpted swimmer’s body.

This is great. I’m young again and handsome. I have sexy dark hair and eyes with a body to die for. She has given me the perfect gift. George admired his new physique.

“Almost done,” she told him. “One last step to take and you will be complete.”

What could be more complete than this? George wondered. All I want is to run my hands across my body, touch every curve and crevice, feel my young package spring to life.

With that, she mumbled some incomprehensible words. He could feel his mind, his very soul, being sucked from this body. He silently screamed as he realized he had been placed in the marble statue that the old woman had made. Not fair, not fair at all! The irony was she had given and then taken away, much like he did when repossessing someone’s house.

He could only stare through marble eyes as the old woman went to one of the other statues. While still in perfect condition, this one looked like it had been weathered with age. She mumbled some more words. An eerie glow started to emanate from it, stretching to touch the vacant body and finally disappearing completely inside of it. A newly formed block of marble stood in the statue’s place.

He watched helplessly as the young body he had just left started to come to life. He looked upon the youth that now faced him, an amazing specimen of young manhood in its prime. Give me back my body! Please let me be that man.

The old woman spoke tenderly to the young man. “Chris, you have served your punishment. You are free to go back into the world. Remember; be compassionate, forgiving, and generous with your good fortune. Above all else, cherish the gift of human life.”

The young man spoke. “Yes, mistress, I will be a better person this time. Thank you.” Ah, the dulcet tones of that deep voice only enhance the sexiness. I beg you…

Clothing appeared on Chris’ body, clothes that only accentuated the body beneath and befitting of a well-off young man. He left to go back to the world he had lost so long ago.

She spoke one last time to George, her voice now powerful and commanding.

“You were hard-hearted in life, so you shall remain forever more with a heart of marble. There is no redemption for one such as you. You isolated yourself from your fellow man, so you are now doomed to do nothing but observe the world around you. I have decreed this for I am Fate.”

No! No! No! This can’t be real. I’ll change. George silently pleaded. But it was real – all too real. Fate had bestowed his fortune and life to Chris, all the things that George refused to share with anyone. There was no salvation, no return. He had made his choices. Now he would pay the price throughout eternity.

So, mortal, dare you enter my carnival?