What You Did There (a story)
She stood at the foot of the statue wondering what the hell it was.
It looked like a guy. Like, it had facial features, and he’s holding a gun, and the little marble slab at the bottom of it explained that this was Jerome Pendleton, the grand architect of the revolution that founded their little town of Breckston, but really — what the hell was it?
Chloe sure didn’t know. She felt the inscription but it was gibberish to her hands. Then, just because she thought it was hilarious, she looked left and right to check if the coast was clear. It was hilarious because she didn’t care to know, before she’d hop up on the statue, spray paint in hand.
She started feeling up the statue. That sounds gross but it wasn’t, she was just trying to get an understanding of what it was she was looking at. She felt the human form, but it was all out of proportion from what she knew. The shoulders at the top were bulky, the head was so much bigger than the torso, and outstretched in one of the arms was what felt like a third arm, only instead of a hand and fingers on the end, it had a hole. This must be some sort of mythological ocean creature with this extra tentacle attached.
Chloe hated it. With her little legs wrapped around Mr. Pendleton’s neck, she hung upside down and popped the cap off the whatever-color spray paint, and started to make a masterpiece of her own.
She sprayed wildly, sometimes forming words, sometimes just coloring in lines she thought were there, sometimes just holding it to create a little puddle of paint in just the maybe-wrong place.
After five minutes of what Chloe called “reckoning,” she climbed on down and looked upon her labor. It was all black to her, but it was still oh so beautiful.
She gathered her things and walked away, smiling to herself.
All she could think of was the folks who would come by this statue in the morning, and see the work she’d done—stray marks and scattered scribbles...on the statue of our town’s founder? No message or rhyme or reason, no protest or discernible image to make sense of.
It was the sweetest thought of all, to Chloe, to think of these people staring up at that statue, and, just like her, wondering what the hell it was.
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