This is a short story that I wrote for my AS-levels. Unfortunately there was a word limit so there are moments when I have had to be careful with the number and quality of the words I used. There isn't much of a story behind the piece, but I suppose the notion of being blind and regaining sight appealed to me - the height of miracle. I have dreamed of what a miracle it would be if I woke up one morning and did not need my glasses. Beautiful miracle. But, of course, I am never happy with a happy ending...! Enjoy.
I couldn’t explain it. Instead of the long blackness I had lived with there was now…I didn’t know what they were! Were these what people meant when they talked about colour? There were so many of them! All merging into each other. I marvelled as I began to see for the very first time in my life.
Then I could see things, objects. All so different from each other, with their own colour, own shape, own personality. Images streamed into my memory. Everything seemed to be so clear, but it didn’t stop. The images I saw sharpened until there were clear-cut divisions between one object and another. Everything was so beautiful, so gorgeous, so fantastically pulsing and oozing in life and soul. I felt like I had arrived on another planet or that I had walked into somebody else’s life. I felt scared, but at the same time in awe. I spun around taking in every beautiful thing in the room I had lived in, but never seen. It was a small apartment – why would a blind man need a big one? My carer had told me that she arrived at eleven o clock. I saw a round thing on the wall. Was that a clock? I guessed so, due to its repetitive ticking. So many things, and I could put a name to very few of them! I could guess most things – the armchair because of its softness, the table because of its height from the floor. On the other hand, there were lots of things I could not name: things on the walls that I could not recall feeling or smelling. But I enjoyed that – the feeling of mystery. This was an entirely different world to the one I had grown up in.
I stepped out on to the balcony; retracing the five steps I had been guided through when I was sightless. The noise of the traffic reached my ears and the smell of smoke infected my nostrils. It was disgusting, but I was used to it and knew how to remedy the putrid odour. My carer had made a small herb garden on the small balcony. They sat upon a table that was highly familiar to me. I had always appreciated their perfume, but now I could appreciate their colours too. Distinguishing one from the other through smell and the feel of their leaves, I examined each plant. The first I came across was rosemary. It had long, thin leaves and small flowers of a very clean colour, opposite to the darkness I had lived with. Its smell rubbed off onto my hands and I wafted the heavy aroma under my nose, as I had done many times before. I was about to choose another plant when I heard a high-pitched scream that lasted for five seconds, and then abruptly stopped. I leant over the rails of my apartment to see a woman lying on the ground. I wondered what had happened whilst a great mass of people ran towards her. I was amazed at how many different types of people there were – some were paler and some were darker, and each had a different coloured hair! “She’s dead!” one man cried. “Someone’s stabbed her!”
My mouth hung open and my eyes widened, terrified. This wasn’t the world I knew. It was brutal. I stepped back into the apartment and put my hands to my mouth in horror. The smell of the rosemary struck me again, but I felt sick of its sweetness now. It was masking the violent, putrid truth of human beings. I sat down on my chair and didn’t move.
I waited. Waited for my carer to come. I lost track of time. The clock ticked irritatingly until I grasped it with both hands and smashed it on the floor. Where was she? The sky outside darkened, the room darkened. I felt queasy – I felt blind again. The room disappeared as the room got darker. I drifted off to sleep, but forced myself awake – I was afraid of being blind again.
The next thing I knew there was a loud knocking on the door, and then a crash. I looked up and saw two people. The door was shattered, into many flimsy wooden pieces. The apartment was light now and I relaxed. The two men wore clothes very similar to each other, and they were both pale skinned. I was asked my name. I replied truthfully. Then I was asked whether I knew Katie Fox. I said that she was my carer, but she hadn’t been in yesterday. The men looked at each other. “Katie Fox was stabbed outside this building yesterday morning.” I started to choke. I turned from them and stepped the five paces onto the balcony. The men didn’t follow, but they didn’t leave. I could feel them watching me. I fingered the rosemary absently and I looked down onto the world beneath me. I didn’t want to be part of it. It was a barbaric place.
Harry Jones climbed onto the rails of his balcony. The policemen shouted out and started running after him to stop him, but they were too late. Harry had thrown himself off the railings and was plummeting to the ground. The last things Harry saw were random nameless colours flashing before his closed eyes. The last thing he smelled was the perfume of rosemary on his fingers.
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