Paint Him the Recluse

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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

100 Words

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.

46 thoughts on “Paint Him the Recluse

  1. Dear Adele,

    The person who comes to mind is Joni Erickson Tada who draws and paints amazing works with her teeth. But not everyone is so resilient, are they? I do understand your character’s escape into his artwork. Nicely done.



    Liked by 1 person

    1. Dear Rochelle,

      That’s incredible being able to draw and paint with your teeth. Good for her. I admire resilient people like her who don’t allow their disabilities or circumstances in life to hold them back. My character has an outlet which will help him. Thanks 🙂


      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thanks for the clarification (I’m easily confused). A friend I had (also an artist) used to get very down and difficult on the anniversary days of his accident. Other than that, he was mostly fine.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. No worries, Bill. It sounds like your friend was going through a really tough time because of the accident but it’s good that he was mostly fine. Most times, the emotional healing takes a longer.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. This is a fascinating story. He alienated himself from his family because “they never knew who he really was.” Who was he, I wonder? Did he define himself by his art? And “He loathed the pity he saw on their faces and their empty words of encouragement.” Was his painting actually not very good, I found myself wondering? Lots of good stuff to ponder! It’s a lovely oblique take on the prompt, too.

    Liked by 1 person

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