Tam let out a low laugh, readjusting his glasses as he did so. He walked a slow circle around his creation, admiring what he knew to be a stunning effect. He had just completed, after weeks of careful work on his hands and knees, an incredibly detailed optical illusion centered on the bike path. Now whenever somebody coming down the bike path looked down, instead of seeing a mundane dirt path they would see a sheer, near impossibly steep drop off. All the remained now was to set up some cameras nearby and let nature take its course. He quickly set up three wireless cameras, packed up his art supplies, grabbed his walking cane, and began his walk back home. Even though the trip to his house was short the journey was no easy one. The shortest route required he move directly through dense forest, littered with large roots and treacherous terrain. These days he found it a struggle not to trip over unseen obstructions, despite his familiarity with both the area and woods in general. He had grown up in the area, leaving only briefly to pursue his dream, becoming a famous artist.
He remembered the time fondly, even though it was one of the hardest of his life. He had grown up in a small community where everybody knew not only who you were, but who your great grandparents were. To switch from that to the county's community college was jarring to say the least. Suddenly he found himself surrounded by thousands of people who didn't know, or even care, about him. But he hasn't been deterred. He had pursued his dream of artistry doggedly, trying desperately to get his work recognized. He had a list of all of the people who had anything to do with art, and he went down it one by one presenting his pieces. Each time he had been denied, and each time he had gone back to the drawing board. Slowly he refined his art style, honing his skills to a razor edge. The canvas was his battlefield, and the paint his army. In the end he had been rewarded for his efforts.
He still remembered that moment as one of the happiest of his life, even though it was pure chance that caused it. He had been pitching his pieces to yet another art collector, and been denied once again. Dejectedly he had begun packing up his pieces, trying desperately to convince himself that eventually they would see. That what he was doing was worth it, despite the fact that he lived in squalor. That it was worth it despite the fact that he was stretching his family's already thin budget to its breaking point. Due to his distraction he had knocked over his entire collection. As he began to pick up his pieces to repack them he had uncovered the single piece he never meant to show. A simple drawing really, it was just a picture of his house. His family was scattered around it, doing the activities that he remembered them enjoying the most. His mother was tending her personal garden, his father sitting on the porch with Buddy, their sheep hound. His older sister rode on the bicycle path that was near their house, and his younger brother played with his toys in the lawn. It was a piece born of his homesickness. And it was the first piece he ever sold. He went home and cried that night, he had finally done it.
From there things only got better. His style softened, and he drew what was most important to him, his home. As his portfolio expanded he attracted more interest, and as he attracted more interest his portfolio expanded even more. Soon he was making good money. Not the obscene amounts that people seem to think all successful artists make, but enough to support himself and start paying back his college loans. All while doing what he loved the most, painting. He worked constantly and to the point of exhaustion, but he enjoyed every minute of it.
One day he found himself horribly sick. This wasn't a unique occurrence in itself, as he had been getting sick much more frequently due to all of the art conventions and shows he had been going to. Still, this time things were bad enough that he decided to see his doctor. It was then that he received the worst news of his life. He had a rare medical condition, one that would result in complete blindness. They may as well have told him it was fatal for all Tam cared.
After that, just as he had been warned Tam found himself slowly losing his vision. For a while, with the aid of increasingly powerful glasses, he was able to continue painting. But soon the world around him became a blur. The once bright colors faded to indistinct blurs. Tam, as he always had, tried desperately to preserve, yet even his legendary determination was soon foiled. He found even drawing a straight line to be a monumental task. Without the visual feedback he was used to his pieces took far, far longer. He could no longer make enough to support himself, and he was forced to move back to his parents’ house.
For a while he continued to draw there, spending weeks to do what used to take him hours. His style took a noticeable darker turn, featuring darker and faker themes. Soon even collectors he had strong ties with refused to even look at his pieces. Tam wasted away his days sitting on his parent's porch, his only companion the walking cane that he needed to move with any kind of speed. It was during one of these days that he had an idea. What if he made a piece that it was better to only be able to see a piece of?
And so he began to train himself in a new form of art, optical illusions. The effects of most were lost on him, since he couldn't see enough of the picture at once for the effect to activate. He had then found a suitable location, the bike path near his house. It was perfect for two reasons, it was well traveled in the summer, but stayed mostly unused in the spring. This way he would have plenty of time to finish the piece, and could be assured that many would fall victim to it. He had set about making what would likely be his last work, a hyper realistic optical illusion, and after many weeks he had finally finished it.
Now he sat in front of his computer, images from his cameras large enough to insure that he got a clear view of what would happen. All that remained was to wait. Eventually, several days later he got his first hit. One of the neighbors saw the illusion and nearly fell off their bike in their haste to break. Tentatively he went to the edge of the illusion, carefully sticking his hand down. When he realized it was simply a painting he turned beet red and quickly rode away on his bike. Tam had a great laugh at this, how could the fool believe something just because his eyes said to? For a moment Tam felt guilty, perhaps he should erase the painting. But sadness defeated compassion, and he decided to leave it for a while longer.
Soon enough another biker started coming down, a woman this time. Tam leaned into his screen excitedly. And was promptly rewarded by the sight of the woman jumping so high at the sight in front of her that she fell off her bike. Tam couldn't help it, he laughed so hard that he felt tears in his eyes and a tiredness in his face. It had been a long time since he had laughed like that. But as he looked up he got a sense of something being wrong, the woman hadn't gotten up.
Tam waited several moment longer, but the woman didn't even appear to be breathing. Panicking, Tam grabbed his walking stick and hurried outside to get a closer look. He moved recklessly, and was rewarded for it with several face first falls into the ground. Bruised and battered, Tam reached the bike path, quickly moving to where he remembered the girl had fallen. As he got closer he thought she looked familiar, yet he couldn't quite tell who it was. Eventually he got close enough to touch her, falling to his hands and knees to get a better look. However his eyes had grown even worse recently and he still couldn't tell who it was. He cupped her head with his hands, or he was going to, but he instinctively let go when he felt something sticky on them.
Holding his hands to his face he could only make out a red blur. Tam was confused, or perhaps just shocked, had some of his paint washed off onto her? It had been pretty dry lately, but if the ground was wet enough it was a possibility. It was then he noticed a wetness on his knees. He brought his head closer to the ground to see, and that when it all clicked. It was blood, he was kneeling in a pool of blood. It was blood he had on his hands. Frantically he reached down, pulling the woman onto his lap and feeling for a pulse. It was only when he did this that he realized tow very important facts. The first was that this was his sister, out on one of the bike rides she loved so much. The second?
She had no pulse.