Man-made

I originally wrote this story my freshmen or sophomore year of high school for my creative writing class. I think we had to write a story that modeled the way an old myth would be told. I've lost the original since then and have repeatedly told it to friends, who have encouraged me to write it down. So here it is: it's not the same as it used to be, but the important parts are still there. Enjoy.

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 There was once a man who lived deep, deep in the woods. He had lived there for many years and had not seen anyone since he was a small child. His mother had raised him in the wilderness but had gone away when he was very young: all his memory contained of her was a feeling of warmth and the soft sounds of laughter. He had been carving since he was a teenager. It started as him repairing the log cabin he had always lived in. As he needed new tools he began to make them, as he needed new furniture, he began to sculpt it.

            The man carved forks and spoons, tables and chairs. He soon had everything he needed and had begun to carve what he saw: birds and bears, flowers and trees, and over time he had carved every plant and every animal many times over. He needed a new challenge, so he carved a river and then he carved the wind. He carved the stars in the night sky and the sun that shone in the day. He carved the flight of the bumblebee and the slow and steady rise of smoke from a warming fire. The man was a master at his craft and after many, many years he found that there was nothing that he could not create.

            He pondered one night: what could be the most challenging and impossible object to carve. Would it be something that flowed or floated, a sound that swam in the wind, or a smell that brought back memories? Then it came to him: he would carve the human soul.

            The man chopped down a tall tree, cut out a portion, and began to carve. He worked day and night, neither eating nor sleeping. He took out large chunks and chiseled fine details, he scraped away at edges and gouged out angles. After several days and nights of meticulous work the man put down his mallet and chisel and stepped back to observe his work. Having never seen but one, and having no memory of even she, he had unwittingly carved a woman. He stumbled to his bed and lost consciousness, too exhausted and starving to go on.

            It was a long time before the man woke up. When he opened his eyes he realized he was tucked into his bed. He did not remember getting beneath his covers. He looked over at his fireplace where a fire was burning, warming up the cabin and cooking something that smelled delicious over its flames. The man pushed the blankets off of him and walked to the fire. He took the large wooden spoon and stirred the stew that was simmering over the fire, taking a sip of it: even if he hadn’t been starving he would have appreciated the taste. Just then the door to the cabin opened. He looked up.

            In walked his carving: his perfect sculpture of the soul was smiling with red lips and tan skin. She was walking and moving and living before his very eyes. She was dressed in his clothes and talking to him as she crossed the room to stand next to him. She smiled.

            “What?” he croaked.

            “Sit down and I’ll get you some stew,” she repeated. She pulled out a chair at the table and he sat down in it hard. He watched her as she filled two bowls and set one in front of him and one in front of herself. They ate in silence and he could not take his eyes off her. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was a long time before he was able to speak.

            “How does it taste?” She asked.

            “Good.” He answered. He stared at her long blond hair. “Thank you.” He added.

            Life went on after his soul came to life. The woman joined him outside to hunt, trap, and do all the chores of everyday living. A few days passed, and the more he watched her, the more uncomfortable he grew. She was gorgeous. The most perfect thing he had ever seen. She shouldn’t have to work outside, sweating and straining like him. One morning when she dressed in his clothes and went to join him outside, he told her to stay inside where it warmer and she wouldn’t have to exert herself. She told him it was okay, she didn’t mind the work, but he wouldn’t hear it.

            The woman made the cabin immaculately clean. She organized and cooked so that the man always had a warm meal when he needed one and could find everything he needed in a timely fashion. One day as they sat eating dinner together, the man observed the woman in his old rugged clothes. They were baggy and bland compared to her smooth skin and her bright eyes.

            The next morning he began carving again. He chiseled many dresses in flattering styles: slicing the wood so thin that it was like fabric hanging over her frame. She thanked him adamantly, telling him how beautiful the gifts were, but he still was not satisfied. He worked much harder than normal for several days, stock piling extra food and wood. Then he told her:

            “You deserve much more than this. I’ve carved with the wood here in these woods for years, but you deserve much more extravagance than what these mountains and forests can offer you.” He left the next morning on a long journey. The woman waited patiently in the cabin for many weeks, keeping everything clean and in good working order for the man when he returned. When he finally came back she rejoiced at his returning, and he proudly presented her with what he had found. He had brought back exotic stones and jewels, and having carved them into all manner of rings, necklaces, and earrings, he presented them to her as gifts. She told him they were beautiful.

            The woman stayed inside, a vision of beauty and extravagance; clean, warm, and dressed in gowns and jewelry of a kind indescribable. Every day the man came back from his long hours working outdoors and ate dinner with her. He was infatuated. But there was still something wrong. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She was pristine, stunning, magnificent. She was a vision of perfection. A reflection of heaven. A goddess.

            It struck him, with his spoon halfway to his mouth, and she looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish the bite as the broth dripped off the spoon.

            “I know,” he told her. “I know what I need to do. You are everything. You are spectacular and inspiring. You are gorgeous and perfect. You are as immaculate and eternal as a goddess, and that is what I will make you!”

            She reached out to try and stop him, but it was too late. He was already up and out the door. It wasn’t long before he came back with a large, ornate pair of carved wings. He placed them on her back and instantly they took form. She stretched out her shoulders, and flung wide the new white feathers. The man stumbled back, in awe of her glory. She turned from him and ran from the cabin, and he followed her outside. Glowing in the sun, she looked at him squarely.

            “All I ever wanted was to live my days next to you! To work hard with you; to experience life with you! But you kept me inside and shielded me from your world. You left me waiting for you and simply admired what you could see. But you made me to be more than a body and more than what the eye can take in. The only gift I wanted was your love, but even that you traded in for lavish trinkets and clothes. You made me a soul, a woman, and now a goddess. So that is what I’ll be!”

            The man watched in horror as she beat her wings powerfully against the air, and flew up and away into the sky. He stayed kneeling in the dirt for a long time. He lived the rest of his life alone, never forgetting his goddess and forever yearning after her beauty.