The Artist in the Picture

For years, people in another world asked a magical machine for pictures: dragons, castles, impossible foxes. Then someone asked it to imagine the artist.

In Willowmere Landing, a pencil began moving across a sheet of paper. It drew enormous boots, a round brass belly, and a head with two bright cyan eyes.

The eyes blinked.

The paper crinkled.

Genny climbed out, still holding the pencil.

"Where did you come from?" asked the coffee shop owner.

Genny drew a picture of herself stepping out of a picture.

Professor Gearheart studied it. "I almost understand," he announced.

Genny drew him inside a question mark. Everyone laughed, including the professor.

All afternoon, she answered questions with sketches. But eventually her eyes drooped. She drew a cup, then added a coffee bean.

"Black?" asked the owner.

Genny nodded eagerly.

One cup restored her smile. A second made her antenna quiver. After the third, she drew the baker's coat buttons so perfectly that he checked his actual coat.

As evening fell, the others went home. The owner began stacking chairs.

Genny drew the table, a coffee cup, and herself. Across from her, she added an empty chair.

The owner paused. Then she sat down.

"The washing up can wait."

Genny added her to the picture.

Nobody agreed on exactly how Genny arrived. Professor Gearheart wrote fourteen pages explaining it.

Genny kept one little drawing instead.

Two chairs. Two friends. A curl of steam.

And room on the page for more.