He was never Learnardo, nor was he Michalango, but he called himself a artist. He sat on the garden selling his potraits for mere 5-10 bucks and earn his daily morsel. As the darkness krept he purchased the daily bread and three canvas sheets and went to his house in the slum. He kept a modest living, never earning more than a hundred per day. Every time he passed the stationary shop, he used to see the brushes on display, shiny golden brushes. Broad brushes, thin brushes, fresco brushes and many varieties. 'One day, I will become a big painter and purchase all of them. Then I will draw better paintings for Gudiya,' he though today. Gudiya was his latest and smallest customer who used to come and play in the garden, she liked his colorful paintings and always purchased everyday from him. "Get me a joker tommorrow, friend, I want a joker," the ten year old had asked today. He purchased only one costly canvases today, only one for his masterpiece, only one
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Inspired by Shruti and Shilpa , this is my first attempt on writing a 55 fiction. No theme, just varied thoughts brought together in a 55 word story. Know more about 55-fiction here. Not sure if I used 55 words? Try the word counter. She walked towards the bedside table and glanced at the hot cuppa coffee and a card waiting for her. She smiled and read the card, 'To Ashwini, Lets start all over again- Love, Anup' 'Oh,' she exclaimed, sipping the coffee thinking of the dreadful deed and her bloodstained clothes... Thud. She fell dead. Oh well, how did I do? tell me, tell me na please...if you like it and have themed 55-fiction stuff, so inform me. I will write it. Images Courtesy: Ant Creations Google Images.