The Living statue

The man sat motionless, a statue cast in bronze under the indifferent gaze of the city. His wide-brimmed hat, his embroidered suit, even the very barrel he perched upon and the shoes on his feet all gleamed with the same metallic sheen. He was a human monument, a silent performer in the bustling street of everyday theatre. His name was Greg, strangers didn't know of it, except for the people whose daily activity was in the vicinity. He was popularly called the golden man especially by passersby. He loved this new style of artistry, which he had first admired from an old man called Philip. "This is not just painted gold, Greg, you are a moment frozen in time. Cherish it and they will too" Philip had told him.

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However, today was different. In his brass box were a few gold coins. He wasn't a beggar, but couldn't reject the gift from people who found his artistry with a kind heart. His joy was offering a moment of wonders to people who found beauty in uniqueness. Greg cherished it, not minding the aches in his knee and the burning sun on his skin. To him he was a storyteller without words, a story of endurance, dedication, and quiet beauty found in unexpected places.

He heard the sound of a coin drop in his brass box, standing before him was a girl of 7. She had tugged it out of her mother's sleeve with a cute smile on her face. The mother, a familiar face smiled at him and he saluted her then waved her goodbye. It was this everyday smile he put on people's faces that made him fulfill.