“Brilliant painting Timmy!”
“You’re a great artist, keep at it!”
Timmy greedily guzzled down the compliments and schemed of ways to garner more.
‘Maybe I’ll paint something dark this time, then they’ll worry I’m suicidal...or I could do a self-portrait with wrist cuts, that’d get them.’
Ask his artist peers, and they’d tell you Timmy’s a sweet boy, a lovely boy...soft, sensitive and such good manners! —Couldn’t hurt a fly.
The women in his freezer would beg to disagree.