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One sudden horrific moment shifts the entire trajectory of Atlas and Errol's lives, handicapping both young men in ways they could never have expected. A sculptor without his sight, and a piani...
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"Atticus, that you?" I called out, not bothering to turn around from my spot at the pottery wheel. It's not like it would make much of a difference anyways.
"I- uh-" A different voice replied. Even though they barely said anything, I new it wasn't Atticus. I'd heard Atticus sell my work for years, and before everything happened, I got to see him in action myself. I knew his voice all too well.
"I'm sorry, this studio isn't open to walk ins," I called out to whoever must've wandered in here. Nyra had the tendency to never shut the door, but even at that, I couldn't remember the last time I had to shoo someone out. Barely anyone knew this place existed, and the people who cycled through mostly kept to themselves.
"Oh- uh, that's not why I'm here- or I guess it is?" The voice replied. He had this deep rigid way to how he spoke, like he had just woken up. Maybe on the wrong side of the bed. "Are you Atlas?" He asked me.
I still kept my body forward, focused on the vase I was creating. "Who's asking?" I countered.
"Listen, it's either you are or you aren't. I just went to like ten other fucking studios trying to find this guy, with a headache the size of Texas, so I'd really prefer it if you'd just answer this one stupid question." The stranger replied with more annoyance in his low-pitched voice.
That made my eyebrows raise a little. Who the hell was this guy, and who did he think he was talking to?
"Once again, who's asking?" I asked, feeling the softness of the clay mold between my fingers as I kneaded out the air bubbles.
"You wouldn't even know who I am, we've never met-"
"Then what I said at the very beginning of this conversation still stands. This studio is not open to walk ins, please leave." I cut the stranger off with my own growing annoyance. Sometimes customers had a hard time taking no for an answer, but it had been some years since I dealt with a fan this persistent.
I wished Nyra was here to see exactly why I wanted to move to an even smaller studio in the first place.
I heard the man take a few more steps inside the studio. The sound of his feet as they hit the cement was profound. The guy sounded massive. It wasn't like I was Daredevil or anything though, for all I knew this guy could've been five foot six with some heavy ass feet.
For someone in my position, fear was always on the forefront of my emotions. I tried to never let it control me, but my world was constantly consumed by darkness... it was challenging not to fear the things I couldn't see.
"This isn't-" the man paused a moment. "Listen if you're not Atlas, I'll gladly waltz right on out the way I came. I'm just trying to buy an art piece, and if you're him, you'd think a struggling artist like yourself would want the cash."
