The fault was ours to begin with. It was the boss who accidentally nudged the figurine leading to the ceramic boy's decapitation on the floor. But instead of putting back the pieces together, the object, whose purpose is to trail days remains broken when we kicked off the shift earlier today.
And then, the dissonance of the imagination hits me. Thus, the bodily parts re-arrangement.
Grotesque the outcome might be, the exercise spawns the surrealist within. Whatever pebble of knowledge, a tear drop of reflection, or a timeless learning I cast in the wind as a result of that boredom, I encapsulate in a pensive sentence:
Sometimes, the creative impulse twists our perspective of things to see beauty in perversity.