Blind, Chapter 4
The following is a short bit of fiction, a fable if you will, posted in smaller chapters one at a time. I’m not exactly sure how it will end. I was inspired one morning as the sun peeked through the blinds covering our window.
I was thinking about how we tend to block out the light…
The man sat in his front room, oblivious of the fact that the morning sun streamed through the cracks between the blinds. It was as if each tiny beam of light clamoured desperately to reach him, but fell short. If he could have heard each one calling his name, it would have been deafening.
He continued to sit, staring out of a window he could not actually see. In his hand was a heavy mug. He sipped his coffee slowly, intentionally stretching it out to justify delaying the day that waited for him. He convinced himself that a few minutes more would give him what he needed to get through it.
There wasn’t anything specific in his calendar that troubled him. It was just life in general. It was becoming increasingly difficult as the days passed. Soon the coffee became lukewarm. He continued to sip.
He was becoming more aware of this daily struggle, though not yet of the darkness that pulled on his arms, and weighed down his feet, or covered his eyes. He was still in too confused a state to recognize that, but not enough to know that something was wrong.
He suddenly felt the cold again, and sat up straight.
It triggered a memory that felt like years ago, but was only a few short hours. He set the coffee mug down on the table beside him.
Where did he feel that before? It felt so familiar.
In tired frustration, the man leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His mind formed a prayer that never escaped his lips. His head flopped down into his hands. As it did, his face broke the path of a single stream of light straining upwards from between the blinds.
Photo Credit: Wendy Longo photography via Compfight cc