Premise: Write a story in the POV of a statue.

I took liberty with this prompt, and write about a hobo describing the life of a statue.


Hey. Hey, you! You see that statue over there? Yeah, that one—no, wait. I'm not talkin' about that goddamn gnome on the lawn. I'm talkin' about that ten-foot tall marble statue of a naked man standin' amongst the tulip beds. Yeah, the one that looks like he's starin' off into space, thinkin' real hard about somethin'.

Y'know, that statue's had a hard life. I would know. I've known it since the city put it in this park. I live on that bench over by the pond behind us. I've been watching that statue since I've seen 'em put it up.

That statue's life's been real hard. It used to be a mountain before. There it was in the middle of some forest, and it stood taller than all the trees there. No one was its equal. And if the trees tried to do somethin' like grow taller than the mountain, he could just wait until winter when his head grew white with dandruff and shake his head. Then all that dandruff would come crashing down on those trees. He was so tall back when he was a mountain, that he could touch the sky.

Not anymore. Us humans, we don't like things that are better than us. Trees? We'll chop them down. Animals? We'll gun them down. Mountains? We'll gut them and make them into sissy-lookin' souvenirs. And that's what our statue friend is now, y'see.

You don't need to keep standin'. Sit down. Yes, on this bench. No need to stand. Don't be shy. My bench? Oh no. I don't sleep on this bench. Only naps. Sit. Sit.

Anywho, like I was sayin', we just gutted him out of being a mountain. You could kinda see why. He's a real beaut of a statue. The stone's so white that it'd make ghosts jealous. When it's noon, and the sun is at the top of the sky, he can really glow. I don't like what they did to him. Not only did they make him naked, but he's doing this stupid pose with that left hand cupping his chin and the other on his hip. Then, his hair is this curly thing. It's kinda like he's this ancient guy who's been turned to stone by Medusa or somethin'.

But you wanna see the more tragic part? Come on, stand up. Up. Up. Here, let me help. I'll get your arm, and there you go! Come on, let's get closer.

No, no. It's okay to go in the tulip bed. I live in this park, the cops know me. Don't worry. You can stand there, then.

No, but come here closer. Well, it's kinda hard to see from there what's on his shoulders. Oh, here. Come behind him. Don't be so afraid—then go around the tulips. Jesus Christ. It's back here, behind him. Look at this guy's leg. The extended one behind. Yeah, you see that on his thigh? Bird poop.

Bird. Poop.

Yeah, that long streak of green and white mucus that you may have thought was old paint is bird poop. This is what he's reduced to now. He used to be a god damn mountain, and now he's a bird's toilet. And there's more on his shoulders and on his head, but you can't see from your spot outside the tulip beds because they're the white kind of poop. When he was a mountain, no birds messed with him because he could take out their tree homes during the winter with his dandruff, but now the birds are messin' with him all the time. I see those chickens on his head, his shoulders, cluckin' around his feet. I get annoyed so much that sometimes I'll just run over here and scare them the hell away. No one should get pooped on, especially a naked guy.

I mean, c'mon. They made him naked? They could have at least had the decency to give him a big dick, but no. It's one of those Catholic bullshit statues size before that one pope went crazy and broke off all those dicks and replaced them with leaves. This guy's exposed for anyone who comes to this park. From little girls to nuns, they can see him dick and his buttocks. Isn't that a shame?

Here, let me come back. Oh no, thanks. I don't need a hand out of the tulip beds. What? You saw a cop around? Did he have a Hitler 'stache? Yup, that'll be Bud. I told him once that 'stache is unseemly, but he says he likes it. It makes him feel authoritative.

Ahh, yup. This statue's had a hard life. He is on this spot come rain or shine or snow. Winter and Summer. Sometimes, I come up to check on him, and I can see some parts of him wearing down. I don't think he likes that. What's with the funny look? Wouldn't you hate the thought of withering away? I know we all do it because we're humans. We're all wasting away, but the man used to be a goddamn mountain. Those live forever. The only thing that changes them is humans. Us humans blowing up their mountain faces, and make holes through them. We don't care. We do it to our own faces. Or at least the women.

Say what? You need to go? I was just getting' to—oh, okay. I get it. Yeah, family emergencies are important. Was that why you were one the phone earlier? Oh, your wife, eh? She a looker?

Why, thank you for the five, sir. You're very kind. God bless you. You sure you don't wanna hear the rest of the story? No? Family emergency that big, huh? Well, okay, good afternoon. Tell your wife I said hi!

Good man.

Hey kids, get away from my bench!