“He’s no better than a charlatan, his art garbage.”
The board glared at me and the artist smiled. The commission would go through despite my objections.
I had half-forgotten the incident until he called me down for a private viewing the night before it opened.
I remember walking into the lobby and looking up, but then it went dark.
Eyes open, I saw the so-called art all around me. I was confused until I noticed the floor twenty-five feet below. I tried to move, to scream, but in vain.
Everyone’s favorite part of the display is the realistic man. Me.
Word count = 100
My kingdom for a dozen more words ;)