Myths Retold

Pygmalion's Lesson. 1: Desire

1: Desire

Pygmalion twitched from side to side in his cage. He was unusually anxious, like he knew what the lesson would bring. His beady eyes watched over the students as they gossiped and laughed and lied- the way that young people will. One student was separate from the rest however and Pygmalion kept a close eye on him. Oliver sighed as he stared at the blank page of his sketchbook. He held his pencil lightly, hoping it would glide into action, willing for inspiration to strike at any moment. He flicked the pages of his sketchbook to remind himself that he can do this, he's talented, an artist. Tumultuous waves greeted him, a little sail boat lost among the black and blue storm, endless mountain peaks took over the second page and Oliver gazed into the lake's reflection, the pinpricks of light pulling him into the lake itself, he was mesmerised for a moment-

"No luck today Oliver?" Lucy asked as she hovered over his shoulder. She arched an eyebrow knowingly and seemed to be pushing her hip in his direction. Oliver's cheeks instantly turned red and he mumbled into his sketchbook, "I'm fine," but refused to look up at Lucy.

"Oh bless ya," Lucy said, emphasising every vowel before going back to her fellow cronies.

Oliver turned back to face his classmates. The four girls stood close together, each gripping their iPhones, their long painted nails tapping at the screens. Lucy laughed loudly, flicking her long blonde hair before turning back to face Oliver. The three sheep followed her gaze and Oliver stared at his sketchbook. He heard them laugh, a harsh deep laugh- not the pixie singsong laugh he would expect from girls that looked like that- so seemingly delicate, fragile and innocent. The cackle echoed across the studio and Oliver sank further into his chair as he tried to hide from their watchful eyes. The blank page greeted him once more. They are disgusting, he thought to himself, vapid, vacant, airheads with no real talent. He glanced back at Lucy, her chin was pointed in the air and her pale white neck exposed, Oliver's pulse quickened as he stared at the pure white flesh. He dropped his gaze quickly. Disgusting, he thought to himself once more.

"Morning class," Elizabeth called out as she pushed the studio's door wide open and walked to the front of the room. Her bracelets jangled as she moved the mountain of paperwork that covered her desk. She moved pens from one pot to another, piles of paper onto other heaps and tucked post it notes into drawers that looked like they couldn't possibly be filled with anything else. She stopped and looked up at the class, a huge smile spreading across her face.

"Right my young artists, you'll be pleased to know today we can put our sketchbooks away-" she paused for effect whilst looking around the room, "today we are working with- clay!"

The girls instantly groaned together, their eyes rolling around in their heads like pinballs.

"But Liz it's so messy!"

"I'm never going to use clay in my career!"

"Ergh!"

Elizabeth's smile stayed fixed to her face but she clapped at the class until they were standing in submission.

"You will love it girls! You are literally moulding and shaping art! Bringing your creation to life! This is the very essence of being an artist!"

Oliver swallowed loudly. His last experience of clay didn't go quite to plan. He'd aimed for a robot but instead managed to create a rectangle.

"The theme is," Elizabeth stared around the room once more, her eyes hungry and eager, she licked her lips before uttering the one word most feared by young socially awkward teens: "desire!"

"Ooo!" The girls clucked in unison and their eyes lit up at the mere word itself.

Desire. Oliver swallowed once more. He had some experience of desire, the desire he had felt towards girls, tall girls, small girls, blonde, brunette, smart, stupid, a whole range of girls, however his desire had never been reciprocated. Instinctively, he looked over at Lucy, at her plump lips, her blue eyes, his eyes trailed down her body, taking in every curve and twist of her. His heart was beating at the sight of her.

She caught him staring and leaned forward a little, her lips pouting,

"Got any ideas for desire Ollie Wolly?" She lay back on the desk in a mock faint, arching her back and wiping her hand against her brow. Oliver looked away and he heard the laughter once more.

"Girls that's enough!" Elizabeth said, "leave little Oliver alone."

Little Oliver. Oliver may as well have shrunk to the size of a mouse and squeaked at the women surrounding him. He blinked and stared back at his sketchbook trying to contain the feeling that was growing inside him. It wasn't just his usual feelings, embarrassment, self loathing, but it felt darker deeper than that, resentment- it bubbled and toiled and spread- anger. He gripped his pencil tightly as he tried to push the feelings back. But they were there, he had let them in.