Transient Works

Transient Works

“My name is Amelia. No, no last name. I have no fixed address either.”

Her questioner paused.

“I am an artist. No, I cannot show you any of my work. The things I create are meant to be temporary, enjoyed only as long as it takes water to wash them away.”

The questioner opened his mouth as if to ask something, then subsided back into silence.

Amelia looked up, studying the doctor’s face.

“You’ll want to know why I killed him; I suppose?”

Before the psychiatrist could nod, she continued.

“Every day he came to where I was creating my art and stood staring at it. When I finished, he began to tear it apart spouting ignorant opinions of my color sense, my construction techniques and anything else derogatory he could lay his tongue to.”

As the doctor was taking copious notes, Amelia continued after a shallow breath.

“Yesterday, he went too far. He stomped my sand sculpture before the tide could take it. Killed it before it was its time to go naturally. I grabbed his ankle as he tried to run past me, laughing hysterically as if it was no big deal. I lifted the foot and twisted it.”

The doctor looked up startled.

“I swear I didn’t see the rock buried in the sand. He fell heavily and lay still. I realized he was dead, and I wasn’t a bit sorry. "

“I was an instrument of Karma, and I was content with that. I went to the police the next day, when I heard the body had been found. They brought me here for assessment before my trial. As you can see, I am perfectly competent.”

“I think a home might be a good place for me, if I can get sand, water and chalk.”