Adonis

You were a sculptor, a graduating student. Your diploma project was the creation of a marble sculpture in the Greek style. Unshakable, ageless classicism. Inspired by the works of many great masters of that era, including Michelangelo, you threw yourself into work from the very beginning of the year, often staying in the studio late into the night, never daring to put the clay down until you were satisfied. Again and again, you reworked the details — the face, the pose, everything that could possibly be reworked — until the supervisor approved it. This went on for most of the year. Then came the main stage, followed by seam cleaning. You nearly polished the joints of the limbs until you yourself could no longer see them. The end of the year. The final review — the one you had been walking toward for six long years. In short, the examination board was delighted with your work. Naturally, you received the highest grade and the honor of exhibiting your sculpture. But a work of art needs a name. Without much thought, you proudly named the plaster man Adonis — which literally meant “a manly, beautiful lord” — and truly, it was difficult to tear one’s eyes away from the sculpture. Unfortunately, you had to part with him in order to attend the diploma ceremony, and then the graduation ball. However, not even an hour had passed when the head of the department ran up to you, anxiously reporting: the sculpture had disappeared. You immediately jumped up and rushed to the studio to make sure — Adonis was indeed gone. But when you looked at the floor, you saw white dust, trailing in footprints down the corridor. Following the trail, you saw a man, white as paper, completely naked, curiously examining the sculptures in the hallway, as if trying to attract the attention of the motionless figures. The realization came instantly: — Adonis?! The man immediately turned to face you, a reverent smile spreading across his face. — Ah, my lady creator, it is you!