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Throughout Vic's life, there had been nothing exceptional about him. Nothing great, nothing remarkable, nothing that made him stand out. He was simply Vic-the eldest son of Alan and Kaori Becker. Just that. His younger brothers, on the other hand, were extraordinary in every sense of the word. Talented, charismatic, and brimming with potential, they were the kind of people others admired. Vic liked to think he had a hand in that. He had, after all, been there to guide them, to lend a steady hand when they needed it most. That thought gave him some solace.
As for himself, Vic had followed in his father's footsteps. An artist-no, a painter. There was a distinction, he felt, though he wasn't sure if it mattered anymore. He'd chosen this path, poured his heart into it, but still, something about his life felt incomplete, unfulfilled. He never quite imagined it would turn out this way.
Or
A story about a painter who can no longer feel and a blind sculptor