A Scarlet Clown

She briefly glanced over her shoulder with a wayward smile. “Scarlet?” called Professor Thurman. He was slim, young, not much older than her. He had thick black hair, and a slight goatee. She whirled around. Her curly brown hair blew in the wind. “I’m not YOUR professor, or anything, but I saw some of your pictures in the art room.”
“Yeah?” she said quietly.
“I’m just saying…you’re good.”

Back at the dorm, she changed into her outfit. “Why do they hate me? I’m simply a modern-day Robin Hood. Hmm?” Her outfit, like her personality, was extravagant. With the last swipe of red lipstick, the affect was complete; a porcelain clown.

In the museum, she was nimble. At the bank, she was quick. And, when she let her “donations” at the homeless center, the workers thanked her without question.

She was peeling off the costume, when she noticed the blinking light on her anwering machine. “Scarlet,” the message began, “I have some friends at the art gallery that want to showcase your work…”

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