People stared. Parents grabbed their children's hands, ready to protect them from the obviously unbalanced individual. Slowly, a cushion of space grew around the man.

And then he did a funny thing. He pulled off a big gob of his left cheek and fashioned it into a small, awkward-looking turtle. He turned and attempted to hand it to a little girl, who shrieked and hid behind her mommy.

Mr. Clay Head was disappointed. Why did people spurn his gifts? He tried again, pulling off his nose and tweaking it just a bit. With amazing dexterity he molded it into an octopus, complete with suction cup tentacles. Again he attempted to hand it to a child, but was stared down by a protective parent as the little boy ran and hid.

The cushion of space around him grew as people backed against the walls, afraid to get close but too fascinated to leave the room. He smiled what he hoped was a disarming smile, and sat down on the tiled floor. Soon he was making all manner of things. His left ear went on to become a little cowboy, and he managed to carefully braid strands of his pliable hair into a pretty little clay rope. He had stopped all attempts at speech after using his lower jaw and tongue to make a nearly full-sized crown, decorated on top with his molars. He plucked out an eye and rolled it into a snake, complete with little forked tongue.

Admittedly, his aspect at this point was nothing short of hideous: all torn and twisted in his attempts to gain the adoration of the people in the room.

The people themselves were still and staring, equally fascinated and repulsed by what they were witnessing. A couple of parents had to leave when their kids started screaming. This was just too disturbing for the very young.

Mr. Clay Head did not give up. He reached deep into his ruined face and pulled out a big chunk of new material. His head now presented a horrifyingly concave face to the world, like a food-covered spoon.

Using this new handful of material, he quickly created a little totem pole, with a fierce bear on the bottom and a graceful eagle on the top. He seemed to be improving in skill with each new project.

Slowly, a little girl, accompanied by her uncertain mother, inched forward. She reached down and oh so tentatively picked up the little clay turtle.

Mr. Clay Head's heart almost burst for joy. He had finally done something that was appreciated. Soon, other groups of people came forward, stooping and picking up the little figurines.

Spurred on by this new acceptance, he plunged both hands into his sagging skull and brought forth a tremendous double handful of clay. Unfortunately, he also accidentally pulled out his spinal cord - which, for reasons unknowable to us, considering the reckless use of his head, he couldn't live without.

So Mr. Clay Head, his latest little creation unborn in his stiffening hands, toppled to the tiles. He had reached too deeply in his quest for acknowledgement and acceptance.

At least, in his last moments, he had tasted the appreciation he had craved for so long. Maybe that was enough. If he had retained his face, it would have been plastered with a satisfied smile.

The people in the room were silent for a long minute, and then everybody began talking at once.

The screaming started when the little figurines horribly reverted to their original state of flesh and bone. The room cleared in a matter of seconds, leaving the shattered, molded remains of Mr. Clay Head alone again.
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