Mr. Lawrence Torrey

An old man tries to impress the newer generation with his wisdom.

Day Four Prompt: ▼

Here is your character prompt for Round FOUR!

Character's Role: Narrator
Name: Lawrence Torrey
Age: 81
Location: Anywhere You Like, World
Occupation: Retired illustrator

TWIST: Is convinced no one walked on the moon

"My name is Lawrence Torrey. I am the law around here. At 81, I am one of the oldest… but I also have all my marbles packaged up tight as you please."

"So you are here to see our display. Don’t know why? It really isn’t all that special. Just a group of our pictures… Tauny’s paintings, Roger’s watercolours, Libbies sketches and my illustrations. They ain’t much… just our life’s work." I grinned at that when I saw the guests looking horrified at my comments. I was only getting started.

“When did you start illustrating, Mr, Torrey?’ One young lady in a purple toga asked me.

“Well, I can’t rightly say… seems like I was drawing forever… my first published one is here.” I pointed to it in its small frame. “It’s an advertisement. That was before I got into illustrating Children’s books. Good work if you can get it.”

“These are wonderful.” Another woman with silver hair said as she ohhed and ahhed her way down the corridor.

“Did you ever try using Adober Illustrator or any other computer…” one young squirt with round spectacles began, but I cut him off.
“That stuff’s crap. Real artist’s do their work by hand. They don’t use no fancy computer junk. In my day there was real talent. Nowadays… bah. Going to hell in a handbasket….”

“But….” The boy tried to argue but I waved my hand at him.

“It’s just my opinion, boy. Take it or leave it. There ain’t no arguing the thing.”

“Mr. Torrey is pretty set in his ways.” A familiar voice boomed from the back of the group and they parted to let him amble through.
“Roger…err, this is Mr.Clements. He is our watercolourist.”

Mr. Clements shook his head at Lawrence’s tone. There was always animosity between them. Lawrence had no time for a man who painted in watercolours and yet Roger had been the most famous of the group.

The crowd smiled and cooed, marvelling at his paintings and he smiled warmly telling them about his work.

My face twisted feeling their attention shift and the old jealousy built. Wanting to win them back, I cleared my voice and said rather loudly, “The old geezer think men can walk on the moon. I say, It’s never going to happen.”

The boy wonder, with the round, wire frame glasses looked my way in utter surprise, “But it did happen. Everyone knows that… back in 1969…”

“Bahh! That’s crap. Media propaganda to get you thinking anything is possible. We are all stuck here on this Earth. Ain’t no going nowhere.” Seeing the horrified looks on the guest's faces, I blew out a huge breath and turned on my heel. I wasn’t sticking around with these people. What did they know anyway.

Word Count = 463