“If you have any literature on Saint Pelagius, I’d definitely welcome it in addition to my own research.”

“I’ll have our librarians pull some materials and courier them to your studio this afternoon.”

“Perfect. As always, a pleasure, Signore.”

“Won’t you stay for a meal?” the monk asked.

“I really should get back to the city. I have a piece due to be fired today.”

“You’re always working. How are you, Marcus?”

“I’m fine, it’s been such a busy year. Just can’t seem to catch up without.…”

“Nic,” Signore Fabrisio answered.

“Yeah, without Nic. I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“You were so strong through his illness.”

“I didn’t have a choice. The meds were expensive. I needed to work.”

“Life is riddled with choices. You chose to stay at your partner’s side when many would have left.”

“I couldn’t have left. I loved him. I still love him,” Marcus said, looking up for a reaction from the monk.

“I know. Don’t lose faith. His ways are mysterious,” Signore Fabrisio said, placing a hand on Marcus’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid I have. I’m left with nothing but clay and marble to comfort me.”

“Sometimes work is exactly where we can find the greatest comfort after tragedy.”

Genesis

THE SCULPTOR took a sip of his tea and let the soaring voice of Josh Groban singing “Canto Alla Vita” cradle him. What ecstasy, to be so young: full of talent and promise.

“Nic, come sit, I want to show you my ideas for the relief.” He spoke to the empty room, as he often did, always hopeful that one day by some black magic there’d be an answer.

The sculptor’s mind drifted back to Nic. Six years ago and their first piede ha terra. Just out of art school, brimming with youthful optimism and exuberance. Beautiful. So exquisitely perfect. Michelangelo was shortchanged in having David model. Nic was beyond words. And the sculptor felt… blessed to be here, with him.

Gone, he thought to himself. A sacrifice offered to a marble god. A god who doesn’t answer prayers. A god who let him die. Alone. Making things of earth and stone. Cold and motionless. Frozen in time.

“You’ll love again,” they say. Fuck you. You never knew Nic. You never knew us. I’m wandering alone, pointless. Frozen myself. Can’t feel anymore.