The Bust, by K. J. Watson

'I commissioned a straightforward bust of my husband, not this mutation,' I raged at the sculptor.

'Indeed, Madam.'

'You've given him a nose that's a proboscis and eyes on stems. I'm not paying for it.'

'As you wish.'

I stormed out of the studio.

At home, my husband was resting in his armchair. I sat opposite him and was about to recount my experience with the sculptor when parts of his head began to reform into a tapir's snout and a snail's eyestalks.

I rushed back to the sculptor. He smiled as I paid his fee and took the bust.