We are all frozen—blocks of ice. We start off thin, fragile, easy to mold and shape. To turn into sculptures of crystalline perfection. With a chisel and hammer, we can become beautiful works of art, if the hand that crafts us is kind. In our frailness, however, we can easily crack. Be splintered. Crushed beneath the heavy feet of those above us: our sculptors.
I suppose that’s what happened to you.
Maybe he wanted to break you. Find your weak points and stomp them out. Make you beg and plead and crack beneath his oppression. Ice is delicate after all. Or… Maybe it was that he strived too much for your perfection; beating the chisel too deep to the point it broke the surface, splitting your skin and fracturing your once smooth edges. Maybe he never saw that you were already beautiful. That driving the hammer deeper into your being caused your heart to freeze more. Thicken.
When we finally left that place, you poured ice water into your veins. You told me it was to heal the scars—wounds left open that you were afraid for the world to see. Fractured ice melts faster when it’s touched by the sun. Over time, the water filled in your cracks and wounds, but built the layers of ice surrounding your heart.
“I’m strong now,” you told me. “They can’t break me anymore.”
And you were right.
Chisels and hammers don’t shape you any longer. Your surface has grown far too thick for that. But in your strength, you’ve become a hollow shell—a bitter memory of what you were before the frost. Before the ice water. Before the sculptor.
The world sees you as a towering beauty—a symbol of strength and perfection. Of power. But they only see the tip of what I know lies beneath. After all, there’s more to icebergs than what rises above the surface. I know because that 90% of hidden pain dragging you down also lies in me. I just haven’t filled in the cracks yet.
Dorian J. Sinnott is a graduate of Emerson College’s Writing, Literature, and Publishing program, currently living in Kingston, New York with his sassy munchkin-mix cat, Scarlette. He enjoys horseback riding, playing violin, and cosplaying his favorite childhood characters at comic cons. Dorian’s work has appeared in Crab Fat Literary Magazine, The Pangolin Review, Alter Ego, and Terror House Magazine.