An Actual Artist- fiction without the alphabet ‘e’

A charming man, walking swiftly across, took my canvas in his hand. I saw him touch it slowly. A painting of just a gold and auburn sky and wavy sands was nothing grand but I was happy it was a part of this show.

So, my handiwork was not lost amidst many glorious things put forth by smart minds participating in a two-day public display by an organization, ‘Blooming Buds’.

“Sir Armor, would you want to buy this? It is a painting by Mr. Roy, our main artist.” Sharmila said, coming up to him.

“Hmm…..It’s ordinary. But I just want to talk to Mr. Roy about this work of art and his vision.”

I stood up awkwardly, my back against a far wall, as I saw Sharmila approaching my small workstation.


Sir Armor stood, choking, his hands tracing a vacant path, imagining my arms.

“It is astonishing that your mouth can do what hands can’t- brush away dark gloomy nights of affliction and unfurl colours of positivity that portray a brilliant, vivacious mind and a virtuous soul. I just got in touch with an actual artist. An honour!”

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