The sculptor wept from the depths of his soul. Not for his legs which lay crushed beneath the debris. Not even for the other people in the building who were either trapped and wailing or eerily silent. His tears were for his near complete sculpture, reduced to rubble and dust.
If you've been reading my stuff lately you may have noticed I've gone back to the 50-word story format for ZapFic once a week but here's one that I wrote just for me. I used my favorite random word generator and got the words "sculpture" and "prediction". The first word felt right so that's what I went with.
There's not much of New Year's Day left but I think I can just barely post this one before January 2nd.
Peace ☮️.
Image sourced from pixabay.com