Cold As Ice

"What's this £1 million piece of art doing here?"

A very good question. There it is, just resting on the side of a building.

"What shall I do with it?"

An even more important question.

"I think in this case, I'm going to be honest and ring the police. It's the right thing to do."

The phone is taken out of the pocket.

"That's strange, I have no credit to make any phone calls."

He knows that he doesn't need credit to ring the police.

"I need credit to ring the police. Perhaps, on this occasion, I should take it home."

On this occasion, he needs a method; how to get it home.

"How shall I get it home?"

He could save himself the trouble and ring the police.

"I can't ring the police. How about I cover it with my coat. Then I'll make my way to the end of the road. I'll get a taxi."

He does exactly that. He wraps up the masterpiece using his coat. He then makes his way to the taxi. He doesn't wait long.

He decides to sit on the back seat, with the picture.

"What's that you got there?" asked the driver.

"A painting I did earlier."

"Are you an artist?"

"I wish. I'd love to paint pictures and make a million pounds for every one."

"How much will you get for that one?"

"The Gift Market may buy it off me. Ten pounds, if I'm lucky."

"Let's see it," requested the driver.

"It's not finished yet."

"Yes, artists are a sensitive lot. They won't show anything until it's finished."

The taxi stops.

"I better pay the taxi driver and get it back quietly to the house."

He pays the driver.

He then sees lots of flashing colours.

"Police sirens" said the driver. "Are you sure you're not hot?"

"Cold as ice, my friend."

The police cars drive past the taxi into the distance. There is silence.

But what will he do with the painting now that he is home?

"I haven't got a clue. I didn't think this far ahead."

Pixabay

An original freewrite with prompts provided by @mariannewest.