Two Eyes Down: Nearsighted

Opening Scene

The white sheet that brought tears to my eyes eventually shrinks until it is just a ball of light energy contained by a three foot, glass bulb with '110 watt' written within a circle, both in black. There are four tube bulbs to be exact, all lined up in a metal box with a semi transparent plastic pane acting as a barrier between the light and I. This box, which provides the bulbs with the electricity to give off light and giving it the ability to burn with the power of a thousand suns and enter my freshly fixed eyeballs. This isn't just awful for someone who only thought of light as an idea until it blasted her in the face, but every patient unfortunate enough to be here.

The sleepers, either for the night or the comma that could've lasted any duration of time will get this surprise, the newborns in the nursery after there first nap will cry at it, and every hallucinating person from old to drugged will believe they are seeing the infamous 'light' and are going to heaven.

Now I know after a few minutes of hissing like the melting witch in 'The Wizard Of Oz' and blinking at the speed of a hummingbird's wings, i see the cheap looking white panels with mysterious black spots on them, helt together by strips of white platic. I pray the spots aren't mold.

The walls are white too, with one single window that looks over a part of San Fransisco, which has the sun shinning brightly over it, beating its rays on the residents while it literally burns its life away until eventually it's core explodes and creates a fireball, expanding to four times its' size and most likely swallowing Mercury and Venus before popping like a pressured watermelon and obliterating us all and creating a wide void of nothingness as a remembrance of what used to be a star. The heat on earth would reach an insane high and our bodies wouldn't be able to cope. If they were, however, we would all be melted and blown to bits when the sun does. All of the steps in this occurrence would take seven minutes to reach Earth because that's how long it takes for the suns' light to reach us.

No one thinks about that because everyone is suffocating in a bubble of their own problems. I didn't really have any until recently, but I still have room to breathe for now. Of course, when in enclosed spaces there is no fresh oxygen coming in so you are slowly replacing the necessary gas for a mammal of any kinds' life, with your respiratory systems waist, carbon dioxide. At first, that seems too literal, but thinking about it, there are people who have passed from a heart attack or illness of some kind caused by a great loss that totally consumes them. Why couldn't stress and personal issues due the same.

My right hand is free to move and I feel the cool handlebars on the hospital bed and warm sheets, heated by my body. The bed is grey, and the sheets are white, pretty standard for a hospital, dull but gentle on the eye. In my left hand, I feel Demi's. Warm, steady, tangible. All of this is alien to me, seeing the light, the box that confines us yet we call a room to make us feel better, the bed, all of it. Demi's hand is something I've grown accustomed to feeling.

When I do look up from the materials surrounding me, I will know who I'll see, I just won't know who I'll see. This is basically a mind fuck. Why? I love everyone in this room with all my fragile heart. Yet my brain will register them as total strangers because the only sound is the wheels of squeaky chairs and hospital beds bound to machines measuring someone's life in beeps and numbers. The struggle of only having four senses is real for me, the struggle of having all five is surreal. There is a big difference in the three extra letters.

I am not surprised to be in total shock when I see four people in their late teens standing there, staring back at me with hopeful looks plastered on each of their faces.

The one all the way to my right is the only boy. He's of average height and scrawny with stringy, dirty-blond hair that falls in waves over his foread and stops just before the brownish eyebrows that roof over his sea green eyes. These eyebrows seem to be playing simon says on his face, because whatever emotion comes through the light specks in his eyes, they seem to mimic. Currently, his eyes look at me with curiosity, hope, and expectance. I imagine the later is for me to speak. His brows copy by raising themselves to the ends of his bangs. When I said he was scrawny, I mean there is absolutely no prominent muscle in this poor kids' body. His arms and legs were pale sticks to match the branch torso, covered by a white graphic tee with what I think is baseball themed. His jeans should meet the hem, but his waist is not proportionate to his leg length, so even if the pants are held with a brown, leather belt, they still sag a good three inches. This boy looks like a sad pug, but maybe thats just the face he has naturally. That one must be Nathan.