Painting in paris

• Jessica Robinson, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2004

“Newspaper! Get your daily newspaper!” I yell into the cold, Paris morning air. A man emerges from the thick blanket of fog. He reaches over to grab a newspaper from the pile. “Keep the change” he says, as he stuffs a bundle of notes into my hand. A grin spreads across my face, this was more money than I usually make in a week. “Oh, thank you very much sir,” I reply in an appreciative voice. He looks at me and smiles, “no worries” he says. Every morning I get up early and come down town to run my newspaper stand. The extra money helps my mum make ends meet. Some weeks I make more than others, and this week has been a bit slow.

As I start to pack up my stand I notice the man who gave me the tip. He is standing by an art easel holding a paint brush in his hand. He is wearing a long brown coat with a warm red scarf around his neck. He has dark eyes and a moustache that is curled up at the ends. As I walk up to him I can see his painting, it looks very familiar. The painting shows a young boy standing on a corner, selling newspapers. The boy is wearing a small brown cap on his head, just like me! He is holding some money tightly in his small bony hands. His dark brown eyes look tired against his pale, unblemished skin. “Remember me?” I ask hopefully. “Yes, I do, you are my inspiration, I have called this painting ‘One Cold Morning’, I have noticed you here on many cold mornings. “What is your name child?” he asked curiously. “I’m Malroy” I reply. “Well Malroy, I am Phillipe, I am an artist and I’m planning on auctioning this painting, all profits go straight to you” he says in a kind way. I can’t believe it, this man is so kind!

1 week later

“…..let the auction begin” Phillipe says triumphantly. “50!” “100!”… bidding continues… “150!” “240!” this painting was okay but it wasn’t worth that much, no way! “700!” “1000!” wow! I don’t even get that much in a year! “For 1000 francs, going once, going twice”, the auctioneer paused for a moment then carried on. “Third and final call….sold”.

Curiously I ask “Phillipe, why did that painting sell for so much? I mean, no offence, but the painting wasn’t really that good”, trying not to sound mean. “The people that are interested in my paintings are interested not only in the quality of the painting, but also on the message that the painting gives” he replied. “For example, this painting shows how a simple act of kindness could mean the world to someone”, he says softly. “Phillipe, you have inspired me to try and become an artist. Painting pictures that send messages instead of words, could make a big difference to someone in the future”.


The End.