“Hey Craig. How did it go at the show?”
“Oh hello, Frank,” Craig responded. “It went okay, I suppose. I did sell the dragons, both of them, to one buyer.”
“That’s terrific, Craig,” Frank said. “But you don’t seem that psyched about having sold them.”
“Yeah, well I was hoping to get a little more money for the dragons,” Craig explained. “They took me a long time to weld and I was looking forward to having some rich collector, you know, an aficionado of metalwork or something, express an interest in my work and maybe even become my patron who would fund my future work.”
“But you did say you sold them both to one buyer. So why so glum?”
“Because the guy who bought them owns Norstar, the recycling place out on Dohertys Road.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Frank asked.
Craig sighed. “Norstar’s a freakin’ junk yard in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s gonna see them. My dragons deserve better, like to be in a museum or at a public plaza, you know.”
(173 words)
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers from Priceless Joy. Image credit: Enisa.
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