Levar hadn't tried to paint again since he'd lost his sight. Though his scars were healed, a new pain had set in that no doctor could address. Would his hands ever be able to bring the image to life without his eyes to guide them? Would inspiration strike in darkness? There is only one way...to find out. He takes a moment to feel the stitching of the canvas. The feelings bring back painful memories, of when him life was bright and colorful. With his mental health declining, Levar's therapist suggested he take a step and face the thing that crushed him the most. Painting, even though his vision was severely impaired. After a month off putting it off, Levar finally took his seat at his easel. He decided to start small, with an simple bowl of fruit, light any beginning art class. He lays out his brushes and paints, feeling the bristles and smelling the toxic chemicals. He missed these minute details that he had never really thought about until now. Without being able to see, his other senses seemed to be heightened. He took a long sigh, it was ready to begin the thing he feared the most. He takes an apple from the bowl and feels its smooth soft skin. In the other hand he reaches for a paintbrush. He dips it into the paint that is severely blurred to his sight. He takes a large amount and begins. He makes the outlines thick so he can feel and repair once it dries. He continues this pattern of touching and painting. He begins to feel ever-slightly more confident in himself, he feels a small smile upon his lips. He finishes the apple and moves back. Even in his impaired sight he saw the uneven lines and messy shading. The anger boiled in him blood. He was never going to paint again. He threw the apple at the wall and shoved the easel to the ground. He screamed at the top of his lungs. His freedom was taken. If only his mother hadn't let him drive that night.