Fiction - Fragment


After a long day’s work, he finally had some time to relax at his easel. He’d had his assistant, Colette, set up a canvas and paints ahead of time. As he reached for them, his hand bumped a frame on the desk. He grasped it, examining its beaten, chrome texture. Then he began to fixate on other objects out of place around the drawing room: coffee mugs on the desk, obscene amounte of post-its over the window, papers littered the floor, Colette’s hand bag by the door…


Standing, he began to rummage around the room, collecting any obscurities as he worked his way towards the door. Gathering the armload of items, he started down the stairs, nearly colliding with Colette at the bottom. He handed her the burden of castaway objects with a disgruntled scowl. She frowned at him, perplexed.

“I need space for the freedom to create my art,” he explained briskly, and started back up the stairs.


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