a Portrait

‘Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar…’ I smiled at the portrait on the wall and threw a butt into the ashtray. It was 4.12 pm. Mr.Brainwash was late.

‘It is just the doldrums, my dear… Your artistic flair thrives; you just have to sacrifice some habitual pleasures for the sake of it.’

I would spit in his face but my good education forbids my spitting on portraits, and this ugly daub takes advantage of this fact unscrupulously! Small, funny antics can fill life with wonder…
I was daydreaming about this impudent portrait gliding down to the courtyard and didn’t hear the door creak open.

‘Good afternoon, my dear! Oh… Did you smoke in here? I told you! Don’t do it!’

Wow… He was angry. His halo became dirty-brown with yellow clots. It was really nasty. Mr.Brainwash was yelling, when suddenly I understood that this would be my last seance with him. ‘You have to sacrifice some habitual pleasures for the sake of it…’ To hell with that! I don’t want to give up my pleasures!

The first bullet was for Mr.Brainwash. The second bullet was for his talkative portrait… Sometimes a gun is just a gun!

Do you remember who said that?

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

My special thanks to Cyan Ryan
for the grammar corrections and improvements on this essay!