1

670words2026-01-26 11:22

My lifelong rival, Connor Hansen, has been leeching off my talent our entire careers, using some kind of cheat.
Every single piece I create, he somehow manages to put out just a hair before I do.
My family and friends all turned their backs on me.

Only my wife, Amelia, stayed by my side.
But when Connor submitted a piece that was a perfect replica mine.
And Amelia, who was a judge, stood up and testified that I was the one who plagiarized Connor.
She just stood there and watched as his fanatics nearly beat me to death.
In total despair, I challenged Connor to one final contest.
Go ahead, tell me. How can you still steal a sculpture when the medium is my own body?

"Vincent Lowe, you thieving son of a bitch! What possible excuse could you have left!"
Connor Hansen stormed onto the stage, ripped the curtain off my sculpture, and shoved his own piece right next to it for comparison.
HD cameras projected every details onto the massive screen above,
revealing to the audience two pieces that were nearly identical, even the individual strands of hair were perfect copies.

A restless murmur spread through the crowd.
"They're not just similar... they're exactly the same!"
"Plagiarism! The audacity to still compete!"
"This is blatant! Does he think we're blind? No talent, just a hack!"
I was so shocked I was speechless.
I turned and saw Connor's face, twisted in a triumphant smirk.
Connor Hansen has been my shadow, my curse, since we were teenagers.
I've been passionately in love with sculpting since I was a kid, convinced it was my calling.
Yet, every time I poured my soul into a new piece, Connor would somehow unveil an identical one just days, sometimes hours, before me.
Over after another, everyone decided I was the copycat.
All this frustration got stuck in my throat, impossible to voice or swallow.
Even though those works were born from my own hands, I couldn't prove it.
This competition was my last shot—a chance Amelia had supposedly secured for me to clear my name.
The judging panel was filled with lengends, world-renowned artists.
If I won this match, all the doubts would vanish.
I had been wondering why I hadn't seen a copycat piece from Connor during the earlier rounds.
Turns out, he was waiting for the finals to publicly crucify me.
Sculpture isn't like painting, there's no video proof, no technical way to retrace each step of creation.
But... I have a witness!
I looked straight my wife on the judges' pane, my voice firm.
"My entire creative process was witnessed by Ms. Amelia Lowe, my wife. She can vouch for my innocence!"
All eyes shifted to her, but she just cleared her throat and avoided my gaze.
Her voice echoed through the hall, cold and formal.
"Vincent..."
She suddenly became stern and righteous.
"While I'm your wife, my role as a judge for this sculpture competition, I cannot, and will not, abuse my power to provide false testimony for you."
I felt the floor drop from under me.
False testimony? What was she saying? She saw me create it with her own eyes.
She continued.
"My duty is to the truth. I cannot favor you because of our relationship, let alone commit perjury for you."
"I personally witnessed Connor's carving process. If you apologize to him now, for old time's sake, I might convince him to drop the charges."
Her sudden betrayal left my mind blank. My composure shattered.
"I won't apologize! I didn't steal anything!"
Connor, however, just shoved his hands in his pockets and let out a condescending chuckle.
"I gotta admire your persistence in copying, really. Tough spirit."
He deliberately emphasized the word "copy."
I was trembling with rage.
"I didn't..."
"True art deserves protection! I hope everyone will stand against all plagiarism!"
That was all the crowd needed. His supporters surged forward, shouting,
"A repeat offender!"
"Get this fraud out of here! He's polluting the art world!"