Author's Note: hi everyone! The photo above is an example of Light Perception Blindness, which is what the character I am attempting to portray is conditioned with. Also, this book is very much not thought out yet, so if you have any ideas, let me know! They may appear in some later chapters :) Enjoy!
TRIGGER WARNING: PHYSICAL ABUSE
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A raised hand alift to shield my cowering body, yet it does nothing to help. The lashes are relentless, on my back, on my face, on my legs. I hear a the splitting of air to my right, forcing me to tense and embrace the next lash. If only I could force a glimpse into the devilish eyes of my abuser, as if I squeeze my eyes hard enough the next time I open them, I'll be able to see.
A pathetic whimper escaped the knots of my closed lips, a hot stinging sensation forming across my exposed thigh. The rest of my body already hardened and raw from the nonstop flogging.
"M-mom," I attempted a plead, though my speech is heavily slurred. I cry out in pain, wishing desperately somebody would take pity on me. But I know no one will. Nobody has ever helped me, and nobody ever will. I wheeze quietly to myself, harshly forcing my eyes together, though it would not matter if they were open or closed.
The window to my left wide and bright, probing natural sunlight into the room. Everything a bleak grey except for the figure standing in the morning rays, an unfocused, white blur.
Perhaps somebody was at the other end of my prayer, because they finally left the confines of my bedroom. I don't feel any more at ease, nonetheless. My body radiates a stinge that I know will go away soon; I have since learned how to ease the sensation through methods of my own. Though my eyes do not work, I still see. I see an unorthodox rectangle, as white as ever imaginable. Light pours in through the window, the only thing I can see. It gleams of hard whites along a slate that can only be described as nothing. Though I know what is near. A bed, a dresser, a window, a door. I do not use the dresser and I do not use the door.
I lie flat on the unforgiving boards of the wooden floor. I let the tips of my calloused fingers feel across the rough splinters, my fingernails grazing inside and out of the old divots. This board is 26 years old, according to the amount of rings, if I am feeling correctly. The board beneath my left hand is 13, and I find a calming inequity in the death of a 13 year old tree. Killed, dismembered, sawed into pieces to become a single floorboard in my bedroom.
The paroxysm of the sun's rays flowing into my useless eyes cause a relief, one that the cool floorboards against my wounds cannot provide. Natural light is the only visible distinction between light and dark I have.
I was born like this.
The moon made me like this.
YOU ARE READING
Blind Instincts
Werewolf*COMPLETED* My head bowed in a heavy mannor, not in respect, but in trepidation. I discern his unwavering gaze over my ill silhouette. "Look at me." I opened my eyes, though it made no difference. Black is still black, all I am left with are my four...
