The Cobbler

A short story about an artist.

There once lived a cobbler in Prague. He worked hard and did his job well. No one ever complained, but no one ever praised. His customers were consistent yet few.
    He had dreams though, dreams of being an artist. He dreamed of creating portraits and landscapes and winning hearts with the mere stroke of a brush.
    One day he bought a canvas, 3 paint brushes, 10 colors, and turpentine. He painted a simple picture of his shop. With shoes and instruments strewn throughout his dwelling. He stayed up all night. When he awoke, his canvas, paintbrushes, paints and turpentine were gone. He thought maybe he had dreamt the purchase at the store, but the owner assured him that he had bought all the supplies.
    The next day he went to the store and bought the same supplies and painted the same picture. Awaking the next afternoon, he found all his supplies gone, yet again.
    A third time he bought the supplies and painted a picture of his workshop. Spending all night and day on it. Before he slept that night, he put all his supplies in a safe, which only he knew the combination to.
    Waking the next morning he groggily stumbled to the safe, put in the combination, and opened it. The door swung open to reveal emptiness. Emptiness except for a note that read, “You will never be anything more than a cobbler.”