Caroline brushed her fingers over the crumpled paper, the image coming alive as her fingertips smoothed the surface, pulled the edges, softly flattening it. She caught her breath. Spider lines and spindle marks, a face etched in despair. As if the artist had understood exactly the emotions defined. The man in the picture pleaded with her. She ran fingers along the back of the paper. Dug into every line, like the sharpened chalk to the paper. The hope quenched. A wretched existence returning.
She recognized the face. The amazing likeness. The first man was kicked out of the competition. The rules not allow him another chance at the prize. The jeering from Bateman, the anger from his father, the despair.
Something deep inside her stirred, awakened, strained at the chains she‟d created. The picture, the curves, reached in and curled around the straight lines she had constructed.
