The Scream

The figure looked around. Something had definitely changed. His world, constant spinning motion for as long as he could remember, had now become still. He sniffed the air suspiciously and noticed that it was dryer as well.  On all sides there were boundaries where, once, there were infinite possibilities. He called out to his creator, Mr. Munch, but the glass was soundproof. He raised his hands to his face, grabbed his cheeks, and screamed silently, forever trapped inside his gilded frame.

–A. A. Rubin

This piece first appeared in the 81 Words Anthology.