“Will you hold still!”
Pikey scowled. “You try standing still this long and see how well you manage it.” He rolled his shoulders. “How much longer?”
“I’ll be done a lot sooner if you’d just hold still.”
“Fine. Just hurry up, ‘fore I freeze like this forever.”
Squiffle gave him a jaunty grin over the screen behind which he worked. “Great art cannot be rushed.”
Several days later – or so it felt – Squiffle finally drew back the screen, revealing his completed artwork with a flourish. “Voila,” he said.
Pikey stared, mouth agape.
“What d’ you think?”
“You’ve made me look like a bloody alien.”
“I have not!”
“Look at the size of them eyes. And my head ain’t that big! All you’d ‘ave to do is paint it green, Squiff.”
Squiffle squinted at his sculpture. “Y’ know, that’s not a bad idea…”
Pikey shook his head in disgust, and stomped away home.
It seemed his mum had been right. An artistic representation would always show his true form – no matter how bad the artist was.
Word count: 175
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This post is for Priceless Joys’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. This week’s prompt was provided by any1mark66. Thank you, Mark.
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