'The Curse of the Marble Carver' by Hema Nataraju

They cut our thumbs off after our work is done.

The Padshah ensures there will never be another Taj Mahal.

After years of carving the sun and moon on buttery marble, my hands know nothing else. Now I draw on parchment, over and over, quill between my index and middle fingers. The sun for the Emperor, moon for the state.

On marble, the moon was forbidden to be anywhere close to the sun, but on parchment, Moon refuses to be a thin fingernail. It puffs up, claiming its rightful place and I let it. It inches closer and swallows Sun whole.

I hear that the Padshah’s son has imprisoned him. Victorious Moon laughs with me.

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First published in the 2020 Bath Flash Fiction anthology, Restore to Factory Settings.