—Jayce M— tw: implied sui intent
-Jayce sits in a room a few lumens too few, screwing a few pieces he’d just finished into what he was sure would be his final model.
He’s so sure that this is the last thing his callused hands will finish that he puts every drop of energy into it. He hopes when the client receives it and in no doubt receives the news not so long after, or perhaps even before, depending on the postal service, that they’ll treasure it all the more, each signature carved of metal into the design, each fingerprint he’d been sure he scrubbed off but will have forgotten, the passion poured too bright for any humans eyes to stand melded straight into the alloy like a chemical.
He hopes they’ll run their fingers over the hand cut and wrapped leather over each abrasive location, and that they’ll take pride in having one of his, that they’ll look at it not only as a medical device they only feel grief over but like an art piece, custom fit to their mind and body.
A great poet only in action, beautiful sonnets sung with his hands, only ever truly seen once it’s no longer in production because no one ever values anything nearly as much as they do once it’s gone.
He doesn’t want to be valued like the Ty bears for 10000 dollars on eBay, he wants to be valued like the brand of plastic dinosaur a kid had one single model from and by the time they could afford anything besides the necessities it was out of production. Like the gloves you’ve had since high school; they’re nothing special and you can’t read the tag anymore but you’d try to save them if the house was on fire.
He can’t be sure any of that will happen but it’s not why he’s doing it anyway, he continues working, only setting stuff aside when the light’s really gone and he can barely see his own hands; it feels like he blinks and it’s suddenly gone, that’s how everything has felt for a while though. -