With a broad sweep of his arm Linus cleared away all papers and thoughts related to his homework and replaced them with a small container of clay his sister surely wouldn’t miss. Certainly not until she got back from soccer practice, which gave him at least an hour to practice procrastinating. Cracking open the plastic tub revealed it to be mostly empty and partially dried— a quick check on the side proved that it was air dry clay. Oh well; it was pretty dusty, so odds were that she wouldn’t notice the difference if he couldn’t return all of it. Linus scraped out some of the less crusty bits and mushed them around on his desk in deep philosophical contemplation. A snake would be too easy, a tiger would be too hard... he allowed his fingers to shape the polymer into a crude man. Hardly more detailed than a men’s bathroom sign, Linus stood the little clay figure on its own feet and granted it two pencil-pricks for eyes. Satisfied with the stubby creation for the time being, he turned to grab more clay, only to freeze in shock. Out of the corner of his eye, Linus swore he saw something twitch. Slowly, carefully, Linus looked at the man. The man stared back. Linus’s incredulity grew as it wiggled a clay appendage. Then again, and then it stepped forward. A miniature hop, skip, and jumping jack later and Linus was convinced he was hallucinating. The figure meandered over to the unused clay. Ah... does he... recognize it? The figure’s prompt dismissal of the lump proved he did not, in fact, think of clay as flesh. A horrifying image to be sure— I’m forgetting that this is a hallucination. Shaking himself out of that line of thought, Linus performed a few litmus tests for consciousness: pinching himself, reading the papers he swept aside earlier, remembering what he had for lunch, and— another observation interrupted him. The clay man was pressing the end of one arm-like stub to the other, almost as if... he’s pinching himself? Slowly, Linus raised an arm. A tiny limb mirrored the motion. Waving, shaking his head, and clapping all resulted in clay duplicates, although the clapping was much more lackluster. Curiosity sparked across Linus’s mind. He reached out to the figure— who reciprocated— and took his minuscule hand. Using the pen from earlier and some creative fingernail maneuvering, Linus granted the clay figure a right hand. It was closer to an oven mitt, but at least he had an opposable thumb. It only took a moment for the figure to realize what this newer, smaller appendage was before he hurriedly shoved his other arm towards Linus. Chuckling, Linus complied. All too soon Linus ran out of workable clay. Around the mini man lay a bed, chair, table, and even some crude toys. Linus smiled as he got the clay figure to pump a tiny dumbbell, his own hand holding a pen. Only a few repetitions in, however, something seemed… off. Mini man was slowing down, maybe he was tired? “Are you okay?” Linus asked, feeling enough concern to surprise himself. The clay figure simply tilted his head, and Linus realized he never sculpted him ears with which to hear. A quick repurposing of a toy later gave him enough clay to work with. Linus ignored the flush of totally irrational embarrassment as he failed to make a good pair of ears under the observation of the clay man. A quick pencil poke to each side of his head (with a little fussing) granted the clay man a serviceable pair of hearing devices, evidenced by his whopping two-inch jump when Linus spoke a greeting. After he finished laughing, which fascinated the mini man, Linus repeated his earlier question. “Anyways, are you okay? Are you tired?” The figure put a hand to his chin-area, deep in squishy thought. He raised the same hand as if in realization— but slumped, unable to speak without a mouth. Coming to the same conclusion, Linus tossed aside trying to carve lips or a tongue and just gave the clay man a hollow where his mouth should be. “Aaa… ooOoo…” His voice was audible, but squeaky, befitting his size. “Aaa… eee… ooo…” Linus watched, enraptured with his creation learning to talk, when things began to take a turn for the worse. The mini man tried to move his arms, only to find they were too stiff to bend fully. His legs were worse off. Trying to walk landed him face down on Linus’s desk, jerking in desperation. “Aaaaa… AAAAAA!” Linus flipped him over in a panic. “What’s wrong?! How can I—“ Air dry, he realized. The clay’s drying after being out so long. He rushed to the bathroom, snatching his cup off the sink and filling it with water. When he dashed back the clay man was still screaming as loud as he could. Linus tried to administer first aid with water, but the clay wouldn’t absorb it. It was either oil-based or just too late to save. In utter horror Linus watched the clay man’s shuddering and screeching fade as time passed, too stiff to move. Was it still conscious? Did it feel pain? Was it… dead? More time passed in silence as Linus waited for the clay man to move, himself to wake up, or someone to jump out with a camera and claim it was all a prank. The silence was deafening. Solemnly, Linus placed all his sculptures into the plastic tub from whence they came, with the little clay man atop the bed. Thankfully nobody was at home, so he was able to retrieve a trowel and bury the tub in the backyard in peace. Crickets chirped their squeaky cries in the twilight, reminding Linus of why he was there, and what he’d done. He knew the clay man would haunt his dreams for a while. There were many secrets Linus kept in his long and overall happy life, many secrets he shared as the years rolled by… but this secret, and this secret alone, he took to his grave.