Despite the obvious instructions, the young boy turned from the class prompt and began scribbling furiously on the sheet of lined, college-ruled paper. First an eye, then another. Two ears — no, wait, make it three — and a cruel mouth. Fangs and something like a tongue, long and sharp and forked. A ferrety neck protrudes awkwardly into shoulders and a pair of thin, hairy arms extend from these.
He squints with intention, his hand begins hurting from gripping the number two pencil so hard. A messy hand and another goes onto the page. Four fingers on one, three on the other. Some kind of alien, one might guess. A torso takes shape, ugly (if a torso can be itself unpleasant) and twisted, with proportionless legs on stilted shoes, again covered in nasty fur. Detail goes into the face lines, some shadow, carefully adding finishing touches.
The class bell rings. The boy carries his sheet to the front, and observes the teacher's response. Under the drawing: "girl."
We, Byron; A Lord = ?
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