“You are beautiful,” he said. “Would you allow me to sketch your portrait?”
Doris was sitting on a park bench and looked up at a young man standing in front of her. She put down her iPhone and said, “That’s your best pickup line?”
Encouraged by the smile on the girl’s face, Brian said, “I do portrait sketches as a hobby.” He held up a sketch pad to show her some of his charcoal drawings. “I’d be honored if you would let me do one of you. I promise it won’t take long.” He pointed to an outdoor café. “We can sit over there while I do the sketch.”
He seemed to have kind eyes, so Doris agreed to accompany him to the café. She put her camera on the table, opened up a notebook and started to doodle, while Brian began to sketch her face.
Thirty minutes later, Brian picked up his tablet and showed her his sketch. “That’s really good,” she said.
“Thanks,” Brian said, blushing.
It took several weeks, but the charcoal sketches taped on a wall in Brian’s apartment, including Doris’, were all the police needed to convict him for the brutal murders of half a dozen young women in the city that summer.
Written for the Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNichol. Photo credit: Morguefile.
Sorry, Donna, I went over the 200 word limit. My word count is 208.