I’m saving for implants like delft pottery, porcelain painted with windmills and flowers; teeth I’ll show off at the Kings Head pub, where a young man, a famous photographer as it happens, will be captivated by my smile, beg to take my picture. My portrait, ten foot by eight, will be hung in an exhibition, my Dutch mate, who’s mad about art, who I’ve known for forty years and not seen for ten, will see it. She’ll stumble across my ‘supercilious grin’ tempered by delicate strokes of cobalt blue, and finally accept my apologies, agree it wasn’t all my fault.
Anika Carpenter lives and works in Brighton, UK. Her stories have been shortlisted for the Bath Flash Fiction Award and the Bridport Prize. You can find links to her flash fiction at www.anikacarpenter.com or via Twitter @stillsquirrel.