Mild Mannered

The voting period had begun, and I only had a few more days to try and squeeze some votes out of this. Tobias hadn’t mentioned me again, but he did bring up two more relatively unknown artists. Apparently, he’s really particular about how he wins contests. An unexpected effect of this is I now judged my self-worth by how my entry was doing compared to those two.

\"I don’t react to this though. I’m still too focused on the rising number on my profile. I have an audience now. There are going to be people looking at my art just because a stupid, haughty, well dressed stranger told them to. That’s pressure I don’t need.\"

\"He pulls out a large binder, filled with plastic protected sheets. The book flops open and the images spill into my mind. The figures within remind me of Renaissance marble statues captured on a page, with hyper realistic anatomy articulating each sinewy muscle.\"

Before I can respond, the bell at the front door jingles. The man from the other days enters. His clothes were different but still as fancy as ever. It\'s difficult to put into words how it made me feel. Small? Insignificant? Like a gross little comic goblin?

Five minutes. Just five more minutes to wait. The preliminary results will be announced, and we’ll know who has moved on to the next part of the competition. My leg can’t seem to stop bouncing up and down.

Michael had talked me into showing him the submissions I drew for the contest, by bringing them up on his computer. Now he was critiquing them. He wasn\'t being mean or anything, but I feel like whatever flirting I may or may not have read into his actions was a lie.

My hand instinctively grabs the remote and navigates to the next episode of “Doctor Magician, MD.” I pour myself a bowl of cereal, a late breakfast, as the credits play. Cliché items used in magic tricks are interspersed with medical tools and surgical equipment.

I had been sitting on my couch for the last half a day, a blank sketchbook taunting me the entire time. Outside the window, the sun had set, reminding me of all the time I’ve wasted getting nothing done. Not one idea has come to me. I’ve got nothing. I’m a fraud. I’m a failure. I bet this never happens to real artists.

As I walk to the counter to pay, I curse an effigy of Kara in my mind. Maybe she’ll get a nice big zit just asymmetrical enough she can’t ignore it. Haha! Take that, Mental Kara! The guy at the counter beamed as I approached. Is he taunting me? Could he be psychotic? What if he’s just pleasant?

We pull into the mall and park. Kara leads me to some of her favorite department stores. As we walk around the shopping center, I can’t help but think about…