By the time I was three, I was clinically blind.
Although I couldn't enjoy the finer visual pleasures my family described to me, I was actually pretty cool with it. As long as I had a family that accepted me, I was fine with blindness.
I spoke too soon.
One year later, I was involved in a horrible car crash, the bi-products being a dead brother and father, a saddened mother and a paraplegic for a son.
Now I sit at home, tolerating the fact that I can barely speak, my mother is alone, and I can never change any of it. However, I have something no one else has: increased sensations and thoughts as rich as the soil in the earth's crust. Mom isn't aware of this though. She's still haunted. I can tell by the sound of her voice whenever she changes me, feeds me my mushy stuff, rolls me over during therapy sessions. She can still hear the voices when she's alone.
Mom said she's gotta go to the grocery store now.
I told her that's cool, I'll just practice in my brain book. Even if she doesn't come back, that's okay because I am big now and can use telepathy to feed myself and watch T.V.
I don't know if she got the joke, but I thought it was funny at first. I think I heard her smile, but I swear I heard her stifle a sob as she closed the outside door. I feel bad now.
I should probably apologize when she comes back.
It's been almost twenty-two minutes (I can measure time almost precisely) and I am bored.
Since mom isn't back, I've started to meditate, and I'm lost in pure thought now.
Sometimes I wonder if a random stranger will break in when we're out. I always fear this. I mean, chances are, whoever it is would probably leave me alone, a drooling paraplegic introvert.
I laugh out loud. Hey man, where you keep the stash?
And I'd reply, Muh, Guhunda-teh amorrreeyeh.
Heh heh, being alone isn't so bad. Not when everything entertains you and nothing can hurt you.
It's about 5:30 now. Mom still isn't back.
No biggie. I'll just shit.
Oh shit. I think there's a spider on my face. That. Is. GNARLY!
Ah shit. Okay, I think it's crawling away, but I can't feel anything on my bare arms or feet.
I hate spiders. I hate being alone.
An hour has passed now. I imagine people going about, minding their own business, taking care of my house, smiling at my accepting presence. It's the only thing keeping me sane at the moment. I see their friendly faces, cherubic and glittering, with watchful, caring eyes. I wish I could see their faces.
I wish I wasn't alone.
Where is she? It's about 7:00 pm now. I can hear the crickets in the summer air outside.
What's that noise?
Sounds like footsteps.
It's late now. I am not very hungry. I've already eaten my chair's built in snack-pack reserve. Heh.
I imagine my face when I eat; I kinda look like a turtle when I do. Sometimes I wish I had a turtle. At least it would keep me company. I'm pissed. Why would she leave me for so long?
Dad and Ben, they would never...
Dear God, why me?
9:30 pm. It's so late.
Can you hear it?
No, of course not.
It's the deafening sound of silence. Ringing, it's like I'm walking through breathable water. God.
It feels like I'm sitting underneath a swirling sky of gaping mouths and blank faces, their grotesque lips spitting out words that have no sound.
Good God, why am I alone?
I hate mom. I hate myself.
Ssshhh! I'm listening!
...Can't you hear it?
I can't stop crying. The wet is all over my shirt and face.
I realize how horribly alone I've been.
We're always poor. Mom can barely afford to pay for my medical expenses. When I talk, people can never understand my poetry or my feelings. I only have me.
Why God, why. Why why why why why why why can't I hear anyone outside this damned house, the cursed walls of the decades. Why.
It's... I don't really know. Maybe 12:32. Or 11:00 in the morning? I lost track of time.
I can hear the voices outside my room. It says it is No One. It tells me I am forever at, beside, myself.
Tells me, in a voice I can't recognize, but equivalent to dry leaves, to stay here, with It.
And it loves me wholly. Do you love Jake? Hm?
Do you love? Do you love me? Well?
I'm asleep - well, half asleep - when I hear a faint clicking noise. I prick my ears slightly. There's a pause.
The clicking turns into a faint scratching noise, scrabbly, like a tiny mouse.
I hear the door open. My heart stirs a bit. Mom? Mom, 's that you?
I hear the door close and slow, heavy footsteps climb the stairs, approach my room.
The door opens, letting in a stream of chilly, damp air.
Oh, Mom, thank God. Please don't leave me again.
Still no answer. I can feel her presence sit on the edge of my bed, quietly detached. I feel her hand lay on my head. I can smell her cherry nail polish on her fingertips, but her hand is ice cold.
"Don't worry love," She whispers. "I won't leave you."
She starts to tap rhythmically on my head like a drum.
Borrrrom, borrrrom, borrrrrom.
She hums to herself, and all of a sudden, she doesn't sound like mom anymore. Her voice rustles silently against my ear, like dry leaves.
I'm stiff now, and beyond the point of coldness and insanity.
"I'll never leave you hon. Because when I do-"
Her fingers tighten and I feel a light prickling sensation.
"You'll go with me. And we'll be alone together."
A warm, trickling feeling and I'm dizzy now, the stench of iron is overwhelming and Oh God where is she what time is it I love yes I love why am I in so much pain...
Watching me go.
Written by William See