"Hold still," she said. She'd been writing ever since she was really small... but it never prepared her for the time when she would have to come home and help recreate her own Maker.

The discovery was startling; she'd come home with a heap of homework, and there he sat, near the door to the office. She wasn't allowed in the office itself, and never had thought to go inside, even out of curiosity.

She tried asking him what happened, but all he did was sit there, slumped like some dead marionette. And completely without a face.

She ran into his office and quickly found a paintbrush.

The first thing she painted was his nose, and he took such a deep breath that it startled her. She had to chase him around the house as he bumped into things, waving his arms wildly, presumably trying desperately to figure out what the hell was going on.

It was ten minutes before she could calm him down enough to paint his left eye.

The left eye looked at her pleadingly. He grasped her hands as if she were his only salvation. She said, "Calm down. I'll help, but I don't really know if I'm doing the right thing.

Upon painting his mouth, she said, "Sorry, Pygmalion. I had no idea."

"You've got it all wrong," he finally said, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Pygmalion made me for you."

leslie powell

13 august 2005