Blind Soul (On Hold)

Chapter One

Prologue

Sometimes, late at night when all is calm and quiet, Zack can hear the dead calling his name.

Sometimes, he hears his name and death used in the same sentence.

Sometimes, that is what he wants.

They make his life miserable. That was what they strive for.

Tonight was no different. He couldn't scream or move. He just sat there, knowing if he did anything he would face death. They constantly reminded him of that.

"Don't tell..." They'd say,"Don't do that or you'll know what'll happen. His life seemed to revolve around the dead, because Zack knew the unseen was more powerful than what was visible.

"Come with me", they said once in a misty voice,"And you shall gain eternal bliss." Zack never went with them. He never spoke to them. He just lay there, clamping his hands over his ears to drown out their groans of agony and whispers of fire. They scared him, as they would anyone. The voices were faint and ghost-like, and they smelled of smoke and death when they opened their mouths. But he could never see him. He could never run from them. Wherever he went, they were there, and that was what scared him most of all. This was one of those nights. Tonight they were louder than ever. One whispered something Zack couldn't understand into his ear.

"We are the blind souls."

And then he something stick-like and cold touched his hand. Zack screamed.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

May 9th, 1943

I was born blind. I never saw a flower. It was the thing I'd wanted to see most, sweet and graceful and pleasant. That's what I knew about a flower.

Mother once said that there was a flower that was so beautiful it could make the blind see. It was made of angel feathers and dust from the stars, gold from heaven and the tears of fairies. It was said that it was planted by a wicked king, who buried his treasures under a giant oak tree to keep them from burning when his castle caught on fire. When he stuck his sword in the ground, the flower began to grow. The flower came alive and grew towards the king. When it's stem ignited with his sword, it caught on fire, leaving the king into a mound of ashes.

I used to believe this story, when I was five, but the more I came to know the world, the more I knew what was real. The king couldn't possibly be real. There was no flower that would make me see or burn people to ashes. It was just a story fabricated to make myself feel better or feel false hope about seeing again.

I lost hope.

I thought my own mother was insane, as she still insisted to story was real. When I asked for proof, she clucked her tongue in what seemed to be sympothy and went back to whatever it was she was doing.

But one day, I woke up, and I could see. Perfectly. But the reason I could see, was something I would regret for the rest of my life.