(Best understood with the accompanying photo)
A little elfin man sits in my refrigerator, next to the margarine, and stares out at me. He has been there for over a year - actually over two years, as I had forgotten about him and left him there. In 2am musings I think of him, maybe, suddenly noticing him and setting him upright after he'd fallen over countless times and resigned himself to the idea of laying there. And in the same state of delirium I think of myself maybe as the cruel mistress who gave him life but refused him legs or the freedom to move.
In the morning I see a polymer clay elf and evidence of my own procrastination. I'll finish him up, someday.