I knew a painter once, when I was mad and they shut me in that dreadful place, full of screams and grey walls. I call him a painter. He was a murderer as well, of course. Yet his paintings were truly beautiful, if you were one who could see the beauty in horrible things.
I asked him where the inspiration for these dread landscapes came. He tapped his head and smiled.
“I paint them from what I see,” he said.
“How can that be?” I asked. “For you have no eyes.”
“Some things,” he replied, “cannot be seen with eyes.”
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and providing the prompt photo!
Other responses to the prompt can be read here!
(The above story was slightly inspired by Richard Dadd, though Dadd of course was not blind. Inspiration sometimes moves in odd directions.)