The story of Max: he had green eyes

"Tell me about you. I want to hear about everything, your childhood, your dreams, everything," I asked him while playing with his hair. He has very smooth, silk like hair. His skin was not so smooth though. There are many blemishes in his skin, scars, callouses in his hands. His fingers were long, like those of a painter's.

I had learnt of his profession a while back. His work, a couple of statues were waiting for the finishing touches in his studio. He, in a very few words, had explained how people, fans, from almost across the globe would order his work. He was famous, but his real identity was known to a very closed group of people.

"I was born in a potter's family. My father was probably the seventh generation of potter in the family. His skills were insane. People would come from far just to purchase his work. He married my mother in his mid twenties, my mother was nineteen then. They were in love, very happy. Then my elder siblings were born. One brother and one sister, they were twins. The household was happy to have new generation. Everything was fine until then."

"What happened then?"

The light in his eyes dimmed as he spoke about himself. "Then my mother got pregnant with me. This time, my father was not very happy. He had this idea that my mother had been cheating on him. He would fight with her every day, then try to patch things up and having failed to do so he would start drinking. It had become a routine."

"What made him think that way?" There were signs to know when your lover or spouse was cheating on you, suspecting one's pregnancy was a big issue. Something serious needed to take place for a suspicion like that.

"Some say he saw my mother with someone else, some say my mother confessed, I am not sure what happened between them. Whatever happened, it was not good. When I was born, they expected a newborn to erase all his doubts and insecurities and change things. They did not expect me to born with green eyes. Nobody in my family every had green eyes, so I just corroborated my father's suspicion."

I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at his face. The small sliver of sadness that had fallen on his face was now gone. Instead, there was a peaceful smile played on his lips, as though he had accepted his life.

"Why do you hide your green eyes? When I first saw you, you didn't have green eyes."

"I am not allowed to show them. I don't have the right." He smiled and covered his eyes playfully, and said, "I am Clark Kent, only few privileged ones get to meet Superman."

I placed a small kiss on his lips and asked, "Am I privileged, Superman?"

Returning my smile with a dazzling one of his own, he continued his story. "The fights between my parents increased, along with that beating. This time, the other family members, obviously took my father's side. Her body was already weakened because of a complicated childbirth, to add to that my father would beat her every night.

One night when she did not regain her consciousness, my father realized she would never come back to her senses. They held a small funeral. After the funeral my father took me and left me on the banks of the river. I was three months old then."

I sat up on the bed and watched him intently He went on casually, as though he was telling me someone else's story. I couldn't decide what was worse, the story, or how numb he had gotten to these unfortunate events.

"The master of the house found me there, ad brought me home. He brought me up like his son, gave me love, attention and education. He wanted me to study anything I wanted, but I studied art. I loved to paint, but more than that I loved to chisel human figures from rocks. Master's younger brother trained me. He taught me the details, the intricacies I should remember, and finally how to make a sculpture that looked lively. I would call him father, because that was what he had taught me."

"It means you were brought up in this house? Who told you this story then?"

"My siblings. They found me and told me this story. I think they had been looking for me, just so that they can confirm who my father was."

"Sounds cruel!"

"Actually, they were pretty sweet to me, Even though our fathers were different, we were still half siblings. They told me many stories about my family, good things and bad, and how I was fortunate to get away from that family. It was really nice to have siblings with whom I could speak freely. I was not scared with them like I usually was around people."

This was a new information. "You used to be that guy, who is always scared and shy around people?"

"You have no idea."

'What happened next?"

"I was getting better with my work. They said I had a gift, that I could put life into stones. With time, I was attempting more challenging projects. Father and the rest of the family supported me with money, connections, and training that I needed. One day, I decided I wanted to do something much bigger, much more challenging. I wanted to be immortal through my work. I wanted the glory and honour the artists before me had with their work. I was going insane with the thought."

"Why so?"

"Because I didn't know what to create, and how. Then one day I had a dream. It was like all my cravings, longing to have something of own, someone to my own, everything just became a dream. I knew instantly, I started sculpting. Five nights and four days, I worked like a beast. I didn't feel hunger, sleep, thirst, I didn't know when the sun rose or set, I didn't notice the moon waned or the stars vanished from the sky, or how cold it was at night and hot in the day. It was like the something had possessed me. It was the best time of my life."

'Did you put life in your work again?" I asked him. My throat was dry. I was not sure whether I wanted to hear his story anymore, at the same time I wanted to see how far he told me. I was not prepared for this part of he story. I remembered when I tried to Google his brand name, Pygmalion, and found some beautiful artwork. They were extraordinary, but none of those matched his description. What was this work?

"I did, put life in my work. I just didn't realise then how my life was now linked with his. Then I fell in love with a perfect man. He was beautiful, so beautiful that gods would put their weapons down at the sight of him. The first time when he stood in front of me naked, I knew he was going to be my story. Every night I would leave my room and avoiding the vigilant servants and guards I would sneak into his room. Sometimes he would sneak into mine."

I stared at him as he happily reminisced about a chapter of his life he truly cherished. His green eyes sparkled as he spoke. I stared at his green eyes and fell in love again.

"But this didn't continue for long. You see, it was wrong in many ways, him and I in a relationship. One day Father asked me what was the nature of our relationship? Was it romantic, or sexual? He asked me the same question I was myself confused about-- was I in love with him or it was just lust? I couldn't answer to that. I had never experienced love before, not in that way, neither had I experienced lust to the extent that it sent me insane. It broke both of our hearts.

Father wanted to send him away. Everything was prepared, but at that last moment I woke up. I released him. He deserved a happy life. He deserved to see the world, meet people, to find friends and true love… so I asked him to leave. He left me with a broken heart.

What I never knew was that there were bigger powers at play. I had woken up an ancient magic when I first met him, and ignored its true potential. When I slept with him, got him captured or even when I released him, each step I took contaminated the magic. An irreparable damage was done to everybody who was linked with this magic, including him."

"This made me realised something. I was selfish in my love. It was not ideal for me to fall for him, but I had done it to make myself feel better. I had brought him into a mess that neither I nor he was capable to handle. It was better for him to leave. Who knew, releasing him would just worsen everything. When I came to my senses, everything had changed. They told me to call you back. 'If you call him, he will have to return,' they said. But I couldn't. He deserved everything best, and I decided to give him that. My decision was not a great one, he might have suffered too, but it was the best for him."

"And so, I kept waiting for the day when he would return by his own will."