He is a dreamer, a visionary, a prophet that can change the world given the chance. His decades of experience and hard-earned wisdom are badges of honor; although invisible to the eye, they proudly sit on his chest. What he has learned can be shared to save the people from their deepest and darkest fears.
Yet, as he lays in a hospital bed with an oxygen machine to keep him alive, no one asks him for his opinion or for advice anymore. The nurses look at him with pity, as do his family who come to visit with fake smiles and insincere “how are you doings”. Sometimes, he stirs from his slumber to overhear his children arguing over who will inherit his fortune and his home.
It is a sad existence and he wishes he had started to count the days until he takes his final breath. But he has always been the type of person who regrets not starting and then says it is too late to begin after making the choice. Maybe Death is counting down for him.
His weak disposition has turned his legacy into nothing. He cannot help but to think of all the times he could have shared his experiences with his children and grandchildren and let them know of all the incredible experiences and awful mistakes that he made. To be a person once more that is looked up to and respected and loved – not a dying old man who is looked at with nothing but commiserating glances here and there. It has been even worse when he attempts to weakly speak, and now he does not even try.
So he lays there, in this cold and uncomfortable hospital bed surrounded by overly bright white, and barely manages to turn his head over to the window. A curtain blocks the view outside, and someone had closed it earlier in the day without his input, citing that the sun was shining in his face so he must want it closed – but, in reality, he likes the sun and would have liked to see the colors outside in the greater world.
It’s frustrating, he thinks and closes his eyes.