couch flashs through my demented mind.
Every one quiets down when the male model enters. Now, you know my life and you probably can guess my luck. No, it's not my ex Henry, but good guess. It's the judge. Judge Right, flaunting his flabby 50 year old body in my face. I'm not saying a 50 year old body isn't beautiful in its own special way but when you rule against me all I see is a disgusting blob of injustice standing before me. Why is he naked? Because he the male nude model, duh!
"Ok, class. I want you to really draw what you feel, because without emotion a drawing will never come to life." Exclaims the art instructor who resembles a crack whore with Gossip jewelry. I have to abandon my mission of learning anything, but I do take full use of the materials given to draw a very realistic devil, complete with the horns and "devil's pitchfork". If you are not familiar with the devil's pitchfork , it's a 3-D image that you can't tell where or how all three prongs of the fork originated.
The art instructor came over to my drawing, "oh dear, I don't think you got the concept of the class." She tisks with her mouth at me. Tisk Tisk. Her fake eyelash is hanging lopsidedly on her left eye. Her lips look stained in cherry cool aide and I'm pretty sure a fine tipped sharpie was her choice of eyeliner.
"Draw what I feel when I see the figure model, yeah I got the concept?" I said sarcastically.
"But you drew a devil." Marie said motioning to my drawing. I figured her name was Marie because on each knuckle of her rich hand was a letter. And all five knuckles spelled Marie.
"I know what I drew." I said blandly noticing that her fake gold jewelry was giving her a green ring around her neck. This is common for fake gold wearers. I can't afford fake gold, so I have never had this.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Marie says trying to sound sympathetic.
"I understand." I lied. I paid for this class; if they ask me to leave I think I should get my money back, right?
I leave and go outside to my car. Once outside I search around in my purse for my keys. What? No! They are gone. I set my purse on the car and start empting its contents. Yes, the keys are missing, or stolen. It must have been Isabel . Everyone in the town is out to get me. I'm just about to march in there when I notice my keys dangling from the ignition. I really am my own worst enemy. I crawl under the trunk and reach my hand into a rust hole and pop the trunk open from the inside. My car was made during the era where kidnapping was common and the place of choice of stuffing them was in the trunk. So the car company installed levers in the trunk, so you could open it from the inside. After successfully popping the trunk, I grab my red metal lunch box from elementary school and open it to retrieve my spare key. When I was a kid metal lunch boxes were really cool, way cooler then a paper bag.
I walk back and unlock the car door. Once inside, I feel something under my feet. I reach down and pick it up. I gasp and pull back when I find out it's a dead rat. A big, bloated, black bastard of a rat. It's a bastard because it chose to die in my perfect car. Anyways, my car is where rats go to die. That's nice, I throw the body out the window and it lands in the bushes. Is it wrong that I debated putting the dead rat in Isabel's blood red mustang? She got the luxury model, the one I picked out and Henry said he would buy for me when he got his first paycheck. She stole my dream car, but anyways, is it wrong that I thought of just sitting there and waiting for the class to get over? That I thought about watching her discovering the rat? That I imagine her running back into the building and calling Henry to tell him about how the world is really out to get her? Is it wrong that I'm smiling thinking about this right now?
Chapter twenty
Dear Mr. Successful businessman with your fancy car picture, I must decline your marriage proposal. For two reasons: one, we have never
Every one quiets down when the male model enters. Now, you know my life and you probably can guess my luck. No, it's not my ex Henry, but good guess. It's the judge. Judge Right, flaunting his flabby 50 year old body in my face. I'm not saying a 50 year old body isn't beautiful in its own special way but when you rule against me all I see is a disgusting blob of injustice standing before me. Why is he naked? Because he the male nude model, duh!
"Ok, class. I want you to really draw what you feel, because without emotion a drawing will never come to life." Exclaims the art instructor who resembles a crack whore with Gossip jewelry. I have to abandon my mission of learning anything, but I do take full use of the materials given to draw a very realistic devil, complete with the horns and "devil's pitchfork". If you are not familiar with the devil's pitchfork , it's a 3-D image that you can't tell where or how all three prongs of the fork originated.
The art instructor came over to my drawing, "oh dear, I don't think you got the concept of the class." She tisks with her mouth at me. Tisk Tisk. Her fake eyelash is hanging lopsidedly on her left eye. Her lips look stained in cherry cool aide and I'm pretty sure a fine tipped sharpie was her choice of eyeliner.
"Draw what I feel when I see the figure model, yeah I got the concept?" I said sarcastically.
"But you drew a devil." Marie said motioning to my drawing. I figured her name was Marie because on each knuckle of her rich hand was a letter. And all five knuckles spelled Marie.
"I know what I drew." I said blandly noticing that her fake gold jewelry was giving her a green ring around her neck. This is common for fake gold wearers. I can't afford fake gold, so I have never had this.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Marie says trying to sound sympathetic.
"I understand." I lied. I paid for this class; if they ask me to leave I think I should get my money back, right?
I leave and go outside to my car. Once outside I search around in my purse for my keys. What? No! They are gone. I set my purse on the car and start empting its contents. Yes, the keys are missing, or stolen. It must have been Isabel . Everyone in the town is out to get me. I'm just about to march in there when I notice my keys dangling from the ignition. I really am my own worst enemy. I crawl under the trunk and reach my hand into a rust hole and pop the trunk open from the inside. My car was made during the era where kidnapping was common and the place of choice of stuffing them was in the trunk. So the car company installed levers in the trunk, so you could open it from the inside. After successfully popping the trunk, I grab my red metal lunch box from elementary school and open it to retrieve my spare key. When I was a kid metal lunch boxes were really cool, way cooler then a paper bag.
I walk back and unlock the car door. Once inside, I feel something under my feet. I reach down and pick it up. I gasp and pull back when I find out it's a dead rat. A big, bloated, black bastard of a rat. It's a bastard because it chose to die in my perfect car. Anyways, my car is where rats go to die. That's nice, I throw the body out the window and it lands in the bushes. Is it wrong that I debated putting the dead rat in Isabel's blood red mustang? She got the luxury model, the one I picked out and Henry said he would buy for me when he got his first paycheck. She stole my dream car, but anyways, is it wrong that I thought of just sitting there and waiting for the class to get over? That I thought about watching her discovering the rat? That I imagine her running back into the building and calling Henry to tell him about how the world is really out to get her? Is it wrong that I'm smiling thinking about this right now?
Chapter twenty
Dear Mr. Successful businessman with your fancy car picture, I must decline your marriage proposal. For two reasons: one, we have never
Similar Books
