As a young man of impeccable breeding and unwavering loyalty, he went forth from his family’s ancestral home like a Teutonic Knight of old. He believed himself a modern Crusader, charged with the fully-necessary task of purging the Fatherland of infidels, idolaters and those unworthy to walk the soil of his forebears.
Instead, he was compelled to flee before the combined military might of those who cast their lot against him and who, sadly, won the day. A refugee…an outcast…he lived to the age of 90 before history and the misguided animosity of the past no longer perceived him to be of interest.
Standing in the abandoned, crumbling ruins of his once-proud birthplace, he wept that he was no less forgotten by time than was this sad and broken house.
This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction flash fiction prompt: forgotten.