"Tiffany, girl, you're twisted." Mercedes stood back, perusing the painting drying on the easel. Shades of grays and blues swirled around splashes of black, composing the background. A stick-thin figure, shoulders hunched, drooped in the center. Black tears rolled down the face, over the body, and pooled beneath its feet. Slithering stringy hair partially hid the face, as the mouth on the over-sized head gaped wide. An unheard scream seemed to escape from the canvas.
"This is so messed up," whispered Mercedes."The assignment was to do a self portrait,"
"But that's what it is," Tiffany thought miserably to herself.