“What to do, what to do” pondered Sarah. She looked around the lab, and resting her eyes on a specific drawer a grin slipped across her face. She walked over to the drawer, setting Arthur in a tall, empty glass to prevent him escaping. She rooted through the drawer, “Now, where did I put it…” she said, tossing everything in the drawer aside.
Arthur saw his chance to try and escape while she was distracted. He slammed his body against the side of the glass, until finally it tipped over and threw him out onto the counter top. He ran and hid in a box before the glass rolled off the counter, smashing on the floor and alerting Sarah to his escape. Sarah whipped around to the sound of shattering glass, to see her subject missing, and her favourite glass lying in smithereens on the floor. She ran to the counter, and tore wildly through everything searching for Arthur. She flung Arthur’s box off the counter, and Arthur flew out when it landed. She sprinted over and pounced on him.
She stood up, Arthur gripped firmly by both her hands. “Why you little..!” she trailed off, shaking with rage. She stood silently, the vein in her temple visibly throbbing. She paced back and forth to calm herself, and after sometime, she kept still and that evil grin crept across her face again. “Okay Arthur, we’re going to do something creative, because I’ve been told it would help regulate my anger…” she said, her grip tightening momentarily on Arthur.
She threw him onto a counter top. He lay there, and as he was about to protest Sarah’s fist came crashing down on him. Lifting her fist she revealed Arthur squashed and spread out into a sheet. She took the sheet and began to stretch him over a wooden frame. She hooked his right shoulder on one corner, and stretched his left foot to the opposite. She did the same with his other extremities, pulling him tight. Arthur felt his tiny body stretched in all directions, he felt as though he’d rip apart under the strain. After much heaving from Sarah, He finally covered a 60x80cm stretcher.
“You see, I like to paint, but good canvases are expensive. However, I figured you’d be perfect, being so smooth, so stretchy” she said, gently rubbing her finger across his taught form. She then flicked his body, and it resonated like a drum skin. “Perfect”.
Arthur groaned, “Ow…owwww...it hurts….”, before Sarah slapped a generous helping of white paint onto her canvas. She spread the paint, coating Arthur from head to toe. He could see nothing now except white, he tasted only the paint. As it dried he found it increasingly difficult to move his lips, until finally they stiffened in place. All he knew after that were the brush strokes of Sarah: some light, some heavy and vigorous. Every one of them pushed him, stretched him further. Each one was almost like a punch.
By the end a painting stood before Sarah: Blob, a study of Arthur. Groans could be heard from the painting. “Oh quiet, you’re art now” Sarah said dismissively. She pulled up a chair and admired her handy-work.
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