Sunday, March 18, 2012

Blindness [1]


* Topic: Write an essay about fear. 
1st rough draft- 20 minutes

Thunk, thunk.
The absence of light is something you cannot fight. No option exists of flight; you do not know which way is right. Even the darkness of night is not darkness quite, the lining of the fabric not at all tight. Your eyes project white, yearning for once again bright.

Thunk, thunk.
Every step is a miracle. You cannot see; your eyes are open but you cannot see. Your eyes protest, blinking furiously and shedding tears, they long to be of use to you. But they cannot help you. They apologize for being able to do nothing but give you a picture of black. You don’t know which way to turn. Your eyes cannot help you. You turn your head from side to side, trying to make sense of this world. If it is a world. To you, it looks like nothingness. Blackness destroys your sense of orientation, but it also separates you from the rest of the world. You do not see other people, you do not see any other things. You are completely, and totally, alone.

Thunk, thunk.
That’s the only sound you hear. You tap the ground once again with your cane, thunk thunk. That’s the only sound that tells you you’re still alive. That’s the only sound that tells you you’re still on the ground. Thunk, thunk. You begin to concentrate on the smallest details of the sound. You sense the motion of that sound. You feel the cane’s slight shiver as it comes into contact with the ground; your hand also vibrates and you feel a tingle up your arms.

Thunk, thunk.
Yes, there is ground in front of you. You can walk. You can take a step. Trust your cane. You raise your right foot, toes first, and you feel it. Your toes skim the cold concrete floor just so, just on the surface so that you will not fall even if there’s nothing there. It’s still your left leg that holds you upright; you cannot risk leaning on your right leg in case there is nothing there. In your head, you know the ground is there. Thunk, thunk—the cane told you. But when you’re alone, you lose trust. Even in yourself, you lose trust. Trust makes you unafraid, trust makes you sure of yourself. In total darkness, in complete solitutde, you lose trust.

Pat, squeak.
The rubber soles of your tennis shoes gleefully squeaks as it makes contact with the ground. The ground is hard, solid, and stable. You will not fall. You shift your weight to your right leg. You plant it firmly on the ground, easing on your left leg. One step. Complete.

Pat, squeak.
Pat, squeak, pat, squeak.
Thunk, thunk.

Thunk, thunk.
Slowly you let the darkness envelop you. You fall gently into the soft velvety fabric of pitch black, letting it caress you and cover every part of your body. Several steps. Hardest steps. Slowly you see that the world is not pitch black. You see colors, again. You see the red of the fear you went through, you see the purple of the sound your shoe makes. You see the gray stubs of concrete, even the small brittles on its surface. Your eyes cannot see, but your senses can see.
Light is not bright; darkness is true sight.

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