Whoa! You can't favorite your own shop.

Whoa! You can't buy your own item.

Whoa! You can't favorite your own item.

Whoa! You can't add your own item to a list.

Add this item to a treasury!

Close
You don't have any treasuries yet. Enter a title below to create one.
Close

This item has been added.

View your treasury.

This item sold on March 10, 2010.

Like this item?

Add it to your favorites to revisit it later.
Request a custom order and have something made just for you.
Character Dimensions: 8" X 6" X 8.5"

He was not born, but awakened. There was no gradual awareness of life, no slowly collected memories that grew into maturity. He simply wasn't and then he was. On the stormiest of days he has half remembered memories of dreams. A strange kaleidoscope of thoughts, all in foggy grays. Of places he'd never been, and faces he'd never seen and even flavors of food he'd never laid eyes, let alone tongue, on. The dreams hurt, so he ignored them. They were from before anyways and this was now. And NOW he was Oron.
Despite appearances Oron is a very happy soul. Despite well thought out arguments Oron does indeed have a soul. No creature, or being so sweet, could ever be considered soulless. One only has to look past the green skin into dark, bottomless eyes to see the gentle sparkle of life twinkling back at them. The same eyes that look at the world with all the innocence of infancy.
Oron knew he was young, days old in fact. His creator had showed him the numbers, all laid out in neat little squares, circling the day of awakening in a fat red tipped marker. Red, Oron had seen the numbers and suddenly he knew of days, or he remembered them. And he knew what it meant to be days old, but it was the lovely red marker that fascinated him. And he had scribbled and scrawled over reams of crisp white paper, provided by the creator, until the marker had run dry. And Oron had cried, and knew loss.
Sadness was only fleeting though. Like the shadow of a bird racing across the grass outside. It was there, recognized, the familiar weight of grief settled upon his shoulders like heavy hands only to slip away as fast as it came. There was too much to explore to stay sad. And so Oron smiled, a little lopsided though he did not even know what that meant yet, mirrors not existing in his world.
Everything was new and fresh and yet oddly familiar. Everything he touched felt like meeting a stranger who quickly became an old friend. The window glass, cold and slick beneath his hands. The smaller fingers traced the raindrops that ran down outside, the larger pressed, palm flat against glass, absorbing the coolness. Oron did not see the difference in sizes, they were just his hands and had always been that way for as long as he'd remembered. Days.
There were things to smell, everything had to be smelled. The wooden shelves and books full of pages and pages full of words. Oron spent a happy hour pressing his nose amongst the pages, trying to see if the words smelled different than the paper. He did not even realize when he began reading. The words just slipped into his brain and began making sense.
Everything was fascinating, there was so much texture and color and sound to behold that at times he spun in dizzying circles, grinning as widely as possible, from the sheer magnitude of EVERYTHING. Heart thumping at the excitement and pure joy of being alive with so many wonderful things to explore. Light switches that clicked, carpeting soft under his toes, birds whistling, an inquisitive mouse that ran from his clumsy fingers when he'd only wanted to pet. To see if it's silvery fur was as soft as it looked.
The world was ever expanding, each breath Oron drew, each moment he existed, brought only more delights. One room led to another, to another and when they ended there were walls. Some hard and wood like the shelves, others bright with color, he trailed his hand along the smooth surfaces, fingers traveling over window frames until the abrupt and startling sensation of fabric caught his attention. And instantly he was whisked away for hours, reveling in the nubbly, new texture of fabric. And he repeated the word, whispered "fabbbbbbbricccc" in awe as he snuggled the panels close to his body. He could stay snuggled in the curtains forever, for more than days.
The creator offered things. New things, wonderful things, more "fabbbbbricccccc" the creator called "clothes". And as tempting as they were, as soon as Oron reached out with trembling fingers for his new "clothes" he was distracted. The lights on the ceiling needed staring at, the hallways needed running. He galloped up and down them, giggling with joy at the thunderous slam of his feet hitting the floor. He ran from room to room and he didn't even realize he KNEW they were rooms.
He ignored the happy sighs of the creator, clothes forgotten, in his quest to experience everything.
As time passed he did not grow but his mind did. His vocabulary, his understanding of the workings of the world around him.
Oron could quote poetry, sometimes from books he'd never read. He discussed the meaning of life, the stars in the sky and the infinite wonders of a single flute playing heart melting music on crisp winter's nights.
He developed interests, though truth be told everything interested Oron, but some things seem to leap out at him and became his passions. The first time he tasted soda, bubbles dancing on his tongue he sang, the first time he tossed the empty can into the recycling bin he was taken over by more than the physical world around him, but by a concept. Recycling. Oron became very passionate about recycling.
The concept of reusing materials to make new things, the irony was lost on him for a long while. All he knew was that he didn't just like the idea he LOVED it. And spent many a happy hour sorting through the trash, marveling over each scrap of paper and bit of tin that would become something new. He imagined. He created new ideas in his own mind, picturing what those items would become, and he imagined more than you or I could ever see a simple bit of paper becoming.
To this day Oron is much the man he was. The one he awakened into being. Intelligence and childlike curiosity makes him a delightful companion to spend time with over a cup of lapsang souchong tea. Oron's favorite. Every day Oron is more than he was the day before. Brimming with new ideas, new thoughts, new concepts, new philosophies and new ambitions. He yearns to drive, and can be found curled up in front of the fire place at night time devouring the driver's handbook. He researches hybrid cars, and lusts after a set a wheels he can call his own. He sketches designs on scraps of papers, and he and the creator talk of building their own car from bits and pieces they will salvage from the junk yard. Oron dreams of it, the new vehicle that does not exist yet and whispered aloud, "It'll be a hodge podge." The creator was startled, until laughter erupted between the pair. And Oron now knew irony.
Despite his grand designs and desires Oron remains much the same. The man who was created to feast on the world, and all the delights it offered. Nothing taken for granted, no moment of simple beauty and pleasure escapes his notice.
In the early days there was a moment when he saw his first flower. Plucked from the gardens outside, on a day when the sun still hurt his eyes and he crept into the shade under a tree. Under the watchful eyes of the creator, Oron held the tiny bloom in his big hands, cradling it. And he sighed. As did the creator.
Taking time to smell the flowers is not a casual cliche in Oron's life. It is his life.

Character Dimensions: 8" X 6" X 8.5"





Oron the Frankenstein


Overview