It was 1972 when he came into the world. 49 years seemed like such a long time ago. Life for him had been one big challenge. A car accident at the age of thirty had left him crippled and bitter.
He alienated himself from family and friends because they never knew who he really was. He loathed the pity he saw on their faces and their empty words of encouragement. He just wanted to be left alone with his artwork. Whenever he picked up the paintbrush to paint what he called unblemished perfection, the tides of yesterday were easily forgotten.
This post is for the Friday’s Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find this week’s prompt here. To read other stories or to participate, click here. Also used the October Writing Prompt courtesy of Putting My Feet in the Dirt.