The Painter’s Muse

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He was a painter. A bad one. His subjects looked like they were ready to puke. I bet the red lady was feeling queasy.

How I hated the constant partying and chatter of snobbish starving artists. God, how highly those penniless beggars thought of themselves!

When I decided to run off with Juan, I thought he was rich. I wanted the glamor of being his muse. Little did I know the bugger was penniless and too proud!

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It didn’t make the toilet either. The red lady was ruined. Oh, well!

This is written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge – Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. Today’s prompt is the above picture.

Hope you enjoyed.

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