Bruce wasn’t feeling sorry for himself as he took one last look up the steps that led to his home. And yet, he was feeling a bit melancholy as he sat in his wheelchair. Bruce took out the camera he always kept with him and snapped a few pictures. He wanted something to remember the place by.
He took a deep breath and fought to hold back the tears. It wasn’t easy for Bruce to leave his childhood home. After all, he was born there and it had been the only home he’d ever lived in. His parents left him the place in their will and, until the accident, he saw no need to leave.
Six months earlier, a drunk driver hit him while he was crossing the street and that was when everything changed. Navigating those narrow steps multiple times each day was out of the question. He had no choice but to sell and find a single storey home that was wheelchair accessible. Still, it could have been worse.
Time to move on, or as Bruce liked to say, to get rolling. He was alive and had a life to live, even if on wheels instead of legs.
Written for Susan Spaulding’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. (And yes, I know it’s Monday already.) Photo credit: John Brand.