Chiseled Away

The day I turned ten, Grandfather gave me my block of wood as he had everyone else in the family. It was a beautiful five foot tall block of wood. Little by little, I chiseled away at the wood. Carving here, shaping there. It was a labor of love, he always said. As a slid my chisel over the wood it gave of itself – and I gave it my soul. Little by little, the wood made me grow and I made the wood transform into who I wanted to be – the me on the inside waiting to be released.

This was written for and inspired by the Carrot Ranch’s prompt: chisel
Note, this is complete fiction… no way any of my relatives would have allowed me to do anything that cool or fun.


I Don’t Recognize Your Face

Lon Chaney Picture


I stepped up and smiled at the man behind the podium. “Hello, I hope you have a reservation for me.”

The man looked at me, pushed his half-rim spectacles into his face, and squinted. He glanced at his book and shook his head. “I know everyone who has a reservation. I know everyone, ‘cept you. I don’t recognize your face.”

I sighed. Everyone said that when I was alive. Thought it would be different now, but I guess that was just a dream. I hope my son has a better time with that than I did. Still, people knew me when I was alive, I had rather hoped people would know me after I died. “Any chance you could look again, I have used many faces.”

The man laughed and shook his head. “I know everyone’s face. You don’t have a reservation.”

“Oh. I see. I guess I played a monster for so long, I belong with them now.”

“What’s that?” The man’s brow raised. “What’s that you say?”

“I… I guess I played monsters for so long, that I –“

“Oh, my stars! It can’t be! It is! You are! Oh, please forgive me. Your face couldn’t fit in my book – you’ve had so many. Of course you have a reservation. Your parents are waiting for you. Please follow me.”

Little trivia question–Who am I?