What happens when a statue is given a human life?

What else did you expect me to do? I know it’s a lame cover up. But I didn’t have too many brilliant choices. The idiot walked in unannounced while I was chilling in my room. My room, the one that has a “Knock before entering” sign on the door and a lock that only Hercules can break open. Well at least that’s what I had believed. Until this jerk jay walked in last evening. Turns out, a paper clip was all that it took.

You should’ve seen him though, eyes wide, jaws dropped, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He had this look like he wanted to scream his lungs out. The veins on his neck were threatening to pop open. But no words escaped his mouth. “Hey, are you ok? Relax, it’s just me, Alex” I said. I gulped my own saliva and hoped he hadn’t noticed the trembling in my voice. I watched his facial muscles relax and breathed a sigh. “The fuck, dude? What happened to you?” he asked. He was trying his best to wrap his head around the idea of seeing his house mate naked in this seven feet reptilian form with wings. But his tiny human brain probably couldn’t make much of it.

It’s been a year since a bunch of silly humans who call themselves the government decided to revolutionize architecture. Apparently the Victorian style was too unaccommodating and old fashioned for their taste. Banners of “Geometry is the new pretty” hung down every building that they shredded. This wasn’t even the worst of it. One fine morning that goody two shoes witch of a Duchess of mysterious creatures came to me and announced that my job was in jeopardy. “Your kind is all dead.” She said. Her voice was as flat as a pancake. “They were stupid, didn’t take my advice. But I know you are smarter than all of them combined. So I will grant you the power to shape shift.  Anytime you want. You can turn into a human of an age of your choice.” She said. Her smirk mocked me in my face. “Else?” I asked. “Four hundred and thirty two years of your service will be declared null and you shall perish like the rest of them.” She said. I swallowed my pride and took the offer.

From The Majestic Alexander Vincent Dupree, the third, the lone gargoyle perched on St. Philomena’s church, I went to being Alex, a twenty seven year old Indian man like any other, almost overnight. Sitting over the edge of a building for centuries without batting an eyelid and looking ugly was tremendously difficult. How hard could being a minuscule human possibly be? I was convinced that I would be great at it. But eventually my bubble, One, Two, or maybe more of them began to pop.

Now, if you think it is easy to live as a man in a city with the average demographic age of thirty, you my friend are gravely mistaken. If you reckon that it is simple to work twelve hours a day in an artificially lit, closed building that tricks you into believing that all hours of the day and all days of the year are alike, you are ignorant. And if you think sharing a house with a gym going, party hopping, sports loving, pseudo intellectual, perpetually happy, loud as a horn man is fun, you must be kidding me. It took me a while to come to terms. I swear, I had spared the lives of some of my pesky colleagues. They’d probably taste lousy anyway.

Gradually, I was doing fine at being a human, catching up with their technology and social media. Hell, I was also giving online dating a chance. It’d be interesting to have a child with one of those hot human females. But all of this was under threat in that moment. As much as I would’ve loved to just swallow my house mate alive and continue with my bedtime regime, I resisted. In retrospect, maybe I should’ve done that. But I am a good gargoyle, mercy and courtesy is above all. Something I wish everyone in that room understood. I looked into his expectant eyes and quickly brought myself to utter “Comic con bro! How lit is this costume? I am going as Coldstone- the gargoyle”

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