Myths Retold

Pygmalion's lesson. 3: Dream

3: Dream

She was frozen in time. A moment of absolute beauty captured into a girl's form. Every curve perfectly placed, from the curve her lips to the movement of her thigh. Oliver couldn't believe how perfect she was, he couldn't imagine anyone being more beautiful, more desirable or most importantly- more innocent.

The most beautiful girl, however, should be amongst breathtaking scenery, she should live a solitary life, taking naked baths in blue clear rivers, frolicking amongst green meadows littered with bluebells and sunflowers, and avoiding The Gods and nymphs many advances. Instead she was in a pokey boy's bedroom. Surrounded by a tower of Xbox games, piles of socks scattering the floor and, worst of all, posters of women. Vulgar, disgusting women. Oliver shuddered at them now, with their oversized breasts and open mouths. He plunged at the posters and ripped them from the wall, tearing them into tiny pieces until they were a confetti of leg, stomach and eyes. There, much better, he thought to himself as he turned back to face his beautiful girl.

Oliver had never felt a desire like this before and he certainly had never been in love. But sitting here, gazing into his creation's eyes, he felt certain that this was love. He imagined her arm slowly moving, her elbow crooking as she gently gestured for him to come closer. She would drop her chin and giggle, lightly, softly, as she beckoned him to come closer, her second hand reaching up to cover her mouth. He moved closer, as if she was really calling him in, his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of having her, treasuring her, caressing her, breaking her. She would lean back, retreat, nervous of a man's advances. But he would reassure her, he would look after her, nothing would happen to her when she was with him. She stepped forward, a meek small smile on her face and her huge wide eyes locked into Oliver's. Oliver reached towards her to stroke her soft satin skin but sighed deeply as his hand touched her. She was simply hard clay. No soft skin, covering warm blood pumping through her thin delicate veins. Hard clay. A sculpture. He dropped his hand and turned from his creation. This is ridiculous he told himself, shaking his head, she is nothing but a piece of art, a sculpture. There is nothing real or warm or soft or even tangible about her. But as he turned back he felt himself melt at the very sight of her. She really was perfect.

"You're missing the point!" Pygmalion squawked.

Oliver stood still and looked around the room, searching for the parrot, ready to squeeze its tiny neck until it could no longer say a single word. But the parrot was nowhere to be seen. He shook his head, of course the parrot isn't here in my room, stop being ridiculous. He exhaled loudly once more and forgot about the parrot and his lesson instantly.

He lay back on his bed and gazed once more at his creation. Allowing himself to imagine what life would be like with her on his arm. Her dainty body following him wherever he went, her eyes shining in adoration at his every word and her warm soft body wrapped in his night after night. Imagine how Lucy would feel knowing that she, who was superior to Lucy in every way, was with him. He smiled at the thought and felt himself embrace the tiny girl and pull her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her, so tight she could never escape.