The Artist

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Artist

He said he was an artist. He forgot to prefix it with “con.”

I fell.


He took.


I found him, romancing a naïve young woman in Monterey. He promised her a beachfront California mansion, stirring breezes, wines from Napa, diamonds and emeralds.

I promised her truth. “He took everything from me.”

She batted eyelashes. “He loves me, adores me. He’s everything”

She repeated it so many times that I almost believed her.

Twelve months and two days later, she showed up on my doorstep, blue crescents under her green eyes. “How do we nail that m-f-ing SOB?”


17 thoughts on “The Artist

  1. Dear Sascha,

    Some people have to experience the truth for themselves. You had me at the first line with “He forgot to prefix it with ‘con’. Brilliant line. Well constructed cautionary tale.



  2. Oh but just because he did it to you, doesn’t mean he’ll do it to me… He LOVES me…
    Now I have that silly movie (that I really enjoyed) where the wife and the two affairs work together to get him back… (The Other Woman)

  3. Sascha, it is vanity to believe a long-term con artist won’t con you because you’re special. A con artist’s worst nightmare is having his victims ally with each other! You told the story very well.

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