The Hyper-Realistic Nightmare
Then came Kevin’s drawing. Kevin was the best artist in the class. He took private lessons. Mrs. Higgins expected something genuinely good from him. What she got was technically impressive, but emotionally devastating.
Kevin had drawn a close-up of her face with agonizing detail. He had captured every wrinkle, every pore, every stray eyebrow hair. He had somehow managed to draw the texture of her slightly dry skin with crayons. It was a hyper-realistic roadmap of aging. It looked like a police sketch of a suspect who hadn’t slept in three days. It was the most unflattering thing she had ever seen, and yet, it looked *exactly* like her. She stared at it, mouth agape.