The sound of a bell rings off in the distance, surely to ensure that the people of the city know it is the top of the hour. Of course, the city is well overgrown and only the richest can afford rent close enough to the bell tower these days.
But Johnny snaps a photo, and another, and another while attempting to grab the perfect shot of the side of the bell as it narrowly escapes the confines of the brick. The sky is ripe and blue with mid morning sun and shockingly few clouds in the sky.
Johnny thinks of all the times he dreamed of living in one of the houses nearby. The city center, and where this bell tower resides, is where the city was founded hundreds of years ago. He had no idea how long ago, as history wasn't his forte, but he knew that the status of someone living in this area was that of wealth, prestige, and power. As a child, he longed for any of those three, but now he claims a different desire.
See, Johnny struggled his life away as a youth, his father having left early on in his years and his mother doing all she could to survive the trenches of being poor. It was rather natural for Johnny to long for that which he could only image - the life that being wealthy could provide, but he became an artist and the life of an artist is that of struggle.
Struggle, sure, but also depth and understanding that few other professions could ever lead to. And struggle he did, in his early years of painting landscapes. His unique take on turning real life places into re-imaginings, sometimes taking poor places and making them look quite wealthy and other times taking quite wealthy areas and making them look poor. Even he would admit, though, that his early work was quite bad. Then he ventured into the realm of abstract art, utilizing the very same emotions he held for those places and making them into something so obfuscated that, hopefully, no one looking could even tell.
He felt as though this area, however, was off limits. His childhood dream of living here had a lasting impact on his subconscious perspective of this place in which, for an unknown reason, he did not want to damage.
But his abstract art had gotten him quite famous with the wealthy, and through that he had met a significant amount of people he'd have never otherwise grown to know. Class barriers being what they are, of course, he struggled with the right words to say and the proper attire to wear. It was a novelty to the rich he mingled with, with them finding humor in his inability to fit in. He had made it, though, whatever he felt it was in his mind. His art had made him a fine living.
He recently met someone from this very neighborhood, though, which led him to losing quite a good portion of respect for this area. Most of the wealthy he had met, while not entirely accepting of his inability to fit into their standards, were still quite normal people. They still treated him with respect, admiring him in degrees which he could not fathom before; however, this particular person set Johnny into a blind rage after getting kicked out for Johnny having said he'd never spend his money on shoes that cost as much as his first car. This wealthy gentleman, not so politely, reminded him of where he was and how he should respect the fact that he would otherwise not even be invited into such a fine home.
Of course, Johnny, himself, saw no real difference between the two of them other than the amount of wealth they had control over, how they spent it, and where they lived. Still, his final shred of emotions towards this part of the city he grew up in had vanished. Now, with his camera, he was taking pictures of the center piece - the most established image of said part of the city as a means to transform what he sees into some abstract piece of art for a wealthy person, such as the disrespectful man, to purchase up for large sums of money.
Except, he won't put it up for sale. He will find a person with little to no wealth and hand it off to him so that that person may do with it as they please. Sell it for a fortune and live wealthy for however long that money lasts, or hanging it on a wall to represent everything that the painting represents to Johnny. Either way would be fine with him as he knows it will be his last. You see, with the last shred of subconscious preservation in the city he was born and raised in being destroyed in a relatively small, but monumental, period of time, he also saw what his art had become - a means of entertainment for the people who would not have so much as pissed on him had he been on fire. His desire to be a rich person's play thing destroyed his desire to paint altogether, knowing he'd never be able to paint again without them hoarding it for only the other wealthy to see.
-Dustin S. Stover
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