MicroHorror

Some people cursed him as they were forced to step around. Others stopped to watch as the man dragged his pieces of colored chalk back and forth across the drab slabs of the pavement. Some of the kids had to crane their necks to look over or around the broad shoulders of Tobias Corbaux. He ignored their attentions. He worked his art for one reason, his own personal satisfaction. If he got paid now and again it was all good, but if he didn’t then it didn’t matter a jot.

One child decided to walk across where he’d just laid down the basis of the piece. The mother shrugged her shoulders, the denim of her jacket lifting in a “So what?” manner. Tobias breathed through his nose to remain calm. Every day he saw the way in which the world was changing. Respect was something to be read about. Tobias stared at the back of the child. The little bastard was old enough to know better, clearly coming up to double figures. The brat extended his tongue. Tobias pretended to grab it in the air and reel him in. Enough time had been wasted on the waster; Tobias went back to his work.

The passersby stopped to make their noises of oohs when they saw the lion scribbled on the pavement. The artist had caged it, but it still looked as though it could break free of the concrete and attack. The people looked around and seemed puzzled when they saw that there was no hat into which to toss loose coins.

More people stopped. Some looked a little disturbed at the art of the man. But art is different things to different people, surmised Tobias. A woman pushed her way through the throng. Not caring about the work on the floor.

“Have you seen my son?” she asked, her words every color of urgent. She described him, short dark hair, brown eyes, and wearing a dark blue jacket. People shrugged and shook their heads. The woman ran off to continue on her search for her errant son. The gathering nodded in appreciation to Tobias and then continued upon their way. Tobias smiled at his work. The lion looked real enough to pounce if not for the cage. The lion had other sport to keep its interest, a young boy with dark hair and dark eyes huddled in the corner against the bars. The boy looked so real, real enough that it appeared as if he had pissed his pants at the sight of the lion.

Tobias collected all his pieces of chalk together in the box. Took one more look at his work, turned and headed off. The crowds of the day had dwindled to nothing. As the day had grown long interest had flagged in the pavement art. Some had even suggested that it wasn’t art. That even their children could have done better than to merely scribble red chalk all over the pavement and have the audacity to think it artistic. The woman in the denim jacket ran over the red chalk, scuffing it a little. She was still searching for her boy. Tobias looked up as he walked; it looked as though rain was on its way.