Quirk: Read Outside the Lines

The Gargoyle

With the recognition of life came a heavy bulking pain. As a decoration, a fanciful piece of artwork, it was said I'd bring joy to the masses, but viewers never actually understand mass and gravity, force and pressure, or the years it took to build my stony façade and now the effort it took to live in my stone shell.

According to legend, Saint Romanus saved his country from a dragon. He burned its body, but since the dragon possessed the ability to breathe fire, its head and neck wouldn't disintegrate. He mounted the head on the wall of a church and used it to scare off harmful spirits, and thus the legend of the gargoyle was born.

But it's not a legend. Foolish people played with the elements carelessly, and the artist who sculpted me brought another gargoyle to life.

I might not look the part. No horns or dragon scales, but I am here, alive and ready to protect the world if I could only move my damn foot.

Stone is hard and callous, resistant to change, but on the inside, my soul burns with the desire to be free and light as air. It is only when there is a need for me that I will be released into the world.

Most gargoyles are depicted as grotesque creatures, and I guess, in a way, I am also an old woman with a cane and handbag, but that is not my true form, only the exterior.

You ask, is every piece of art the same and the answer is no. The stone the artist used for my form had been once blessed by St. Romanus and, therefore, the life's blood of the Gargoyle. My companions are sadly just artwork, leaving me not only alone but lonely as the nights crawl into the days, and I watch the passersby throw me curious and careless glances.

It is true you will never find two gargoyles that are exactly alike, but this human rendering has never been prior, and I wonder, without claws and scales, how much I will be able to protect the world from evil, that is, if I am ever called up.

I can speak with the other Gargoyles on the wind; the world has changed. Demons live in technology rather than roam the ground. I might be stuck here for decades, never able to move an inch.

Which I guess is good for you, it gives us plenty of time to get to know one another. You can call me Alex. Yes, it's simple but stems from Alexander, which means fierce, and Alexis, which means defender. I am stone. Gender means nothing.

I am born of the earth, and demons are born of fire. I will protect the lives of humans from evil, which is my destiny or curse. Either way, my future is the same. Until evil blasts my rocky countenance into pebbles, I live, if you can call it that, to defend.

So I have told you a little about me, but I know nothing about you, my silent, skulking person. You come here every night, sit on the bench, and stare at the art installation. Tell me your story.

As if the young man on the bench actually heard my words, a name forms on his lips.

I will soon learn that it is not his own.

Does he understand my true nature and need my help?

As those thoughts cross my mind, my finger twitches.

He doesn't even notice, the movement is small. I want to groan with the pain, but I am still solid rock.

The next moment, I shift my eyes and take in more of the landscape. I have only been able to stare straight ahead, but now my eyes dart left and right.

It creeps out of the dark, cavernous subway station. The evil isn't human, though it is cloaked like one.

I strain to move my extremities. My mind screams, but my body is slow and weak.

I will not be able to save the bench sitter unless I move.

The demon crosses the road, coming closer. I'm still stuck, standing immobile.