Rowan couldn't breathe.
He slammed his open palm against the thick carpet and gasped. Tears plopped onto the back of his hand, onto the floor, down his nose. His carved pumpkin was happy looking, square eyes and jagged mouth, a little rough around the edges honestly, but a valiant attempt from a non-artist. Dewey's was...something else.
A full hour of carving and all that Dewey produced was a face that had two minuscule holes for eyes and an equally small hole for a mouth that held a cigarette.
Rowan couldn't handle the hilarity of it.
"What is wrong with you?" Dewey asked, but he was grinning too.
"Sorry, sorry," he said, struggling to get the words out between hiccupping bouts of laughter. He dropped his forehead to the floor and laughed louder.
He expected something else.
Dewey was skilled enough as an artist to make it big and maybe even easily. Rowan had some of his wood carvings. He bought his oil paintings, the bad ones at least. He knew that Dewey could have made something that deserved to be in a museum out of that pumpkin but instead...
Rowan laughed harder, thumping over onto his side.
Even in this, it was so clear that he was talented. The small circles were perfectly smooth. The one holding a cigarette made just so that it could hold it firmly, without the wind interfering. Rowan couldn't handle it.
"Oh, you suck," Dewey laughed, throwing a bag of candy at his back.
"It's great, Dew. Oh fuck, it's great. Really!" Rowan rolled onto his back, still laughing. "You're a real Picasso."
He looked over at Dewey in time to see the joke land. A wide, charming smile split, exposing clean, neat teeth as Dewey devolved into his own fit of laughter.
Rowan watched the display, carefully ignorant of the fizzing feeling in his chest.
It was going to be a good Halloween.
Dewey was laughing again.
___________________
A.N: It's seriously been seven months since I've written any of this? Bamboozled. Anyway, the other pieces are below! Also, I've been toying with the idea of a Substack but haven't checked it out too crazy much. Opinions? :)
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Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
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