Two Eyes Down: Nearsighted

Stranger

These white walls are driving me insane. Day in, day out, white white white, everywhere I go. I'm tangled in white sheets, the white light gleams off the white tiles in the white bathroom. I haven't changed from my white clothes I slept in after His funeral. That was six days ago.

I remember reading about modern day torture. In some places, one will be placed alone in a white room, with absolutely no color, not even on themselves. When they received food from someone dressed in the same blank color, it's white. Long durations of this, with no stimuli to the brain in any form, slowly drives the individual insane.

With no one around to talk to, with them being busy with their own lives, I just sit here, thinking. Sometimes I'm so deep in thought or memory that I forget to eat, but even then I'm not hungry so I figure I'll eat later, only to forget once again.

While white is all I see on the outside, inside is no better. I see Him. The one I cried for the second I was alone and until I fell asleep, whispering his name in a shameful plead. The one I saw last with tears of pain in his eyes, horror and dread warping his features. That is who keeping coming back to me, if not it's when he was in the car that last second, feeling a foreign object get acquainted with his insides. Now it's a name I can't pronounce.

"Natalie," Demi shouts, concerned.

"Yes?" I ask calmly, confused by her low key panic.

"What's going on?"

It is this question that makes me wonder, drawing cards but only receiving the same, white, conclusions. I don't know exactly. Then again, what does that question even ask? What is currently going on is a part of my life called coping. At this exact moment, I become aware of the stream of icy water hitting my fully clothed body and pooling in every piece of saturated cloth it can sit. Although I am not aware as to why I'm in the shower fully clothed laying down in the tub, but I do vaguely recall realizing I smelled like BO and sadness. So much for scrubbing that off.

I shrug. In response, Demi hauls my ass out of the tub and stands me up, but I hold her shoulder firmly. My legs fell asleep. Demi turns off the shower and helps me to my bedroom. "Strip", she says as she goes in my drawers.

I look down sadly, unhappy with the given task. My white shit is now see-through. My skin is slightly pale in comparison to my hands. I don't recognize the arms removing my shirt. I wince and bite my lip to suck up the pain my muscles cause.

"Oh my god", Demi gasps, rushing up to me and gliding her hands slowly down my stomach and traces the slightly pointy rib cage. "When is the last time you've eaten?"

I shrug, hardly looking into her eyes before they drift to the side.

"Hey, look at me", she scolds as she holds my chin straight "come on, Natalie. You have to eat."

Demi drags me to the kitchen and makes me cereal with orange juice on the side. I spin the metal spoon in my fingers and drag it though milky flakes, but the end of the spoon only reaches my lips once or twice. Demi sits there, staring at me with a look I can't recognize. Maybe it was many things, maybe it was nothing. She just stared at me, but not in the eyes, everywhere but the eyes. I wanted to ask her about her past, how those things she did felt, what she was thinking, but I decided against it. She would have a heart attack if she put two and two together. Nothing I was thinking was a fully developed thought anyway, but I can't help but wonder. Healthy or not, she coped.

Demi coughs, grabbing my attention to nod to the bowl I front of me. The soggy food stares blankly back at me in a way that makes me even less hungry than I already was. I push the bowl away and fold my arms looking at Demi for another order. She says nothing, so I say nothing. Soon enough, she has to go meet with someone for business. She kisses my cheek as she hugs my lip body watching the wall like a television. I do not distance myself from the wall. Instead, I tilt my head in her direction. Then, for the day at least she is gone.

I'm under my desk in the corner of my room, squeezing my eyes tight with my head between my knees whispering 'darkness is light'. I don't know what time it is, nor how long I've been doing this, but that does not matter. I can't remember his last words. He was family and I can't remember.

Lights. Crash. Screams. Swerve. Crunch. Break. Noise. Glass. Cuts. Burns. Bruises. Broken. Bones. Head. Body. Limbs. Pain. Cries. Squeak. Beep. Disease. Infection. Pole. Stomach. Heart. Heartbeat. Operation. Stop. Dead. Gone. Mourn.

I still can't remember. Was I there? I think I was there. He was under anesthesia. Then I get it. The memory of everyone crying as I sit up in a hospital bed. His brain was bleeding. His last words were gargled. There were no last words, he just died.

"Do you think animals are self conscious?" I ask curiously, twirling a fork blindly on the table until it falls and rattles to a halt like a coin on the sidewalk.

"I don't know to be honest, maybe it depends on the animal," Swing says, his words curling up as if touched at the tip by an iron, " humans are animals technically".

"No like dogs and cats and ant-eaters. If I were an ant-eater I'd be self conscious. I'm not self conscious now, at least most of the time, but if I was born to pick up the trailer park of the insect species I'd be pretty bummed".

Nate hums, "you're not?"

"Not really. Never have been."

"Does that make you an ant-eater?" Nate laughs. I try to act pissed, but soon enough I'm laughing right along with him.

"Asshole", I scold, "no, it does not make me like an ant-eater in the slightest. I just haven't had any reason to be. I haven't run into instances where I'm concerned about how I look or how I feel or what I buy etcetera. I don't have the social world bombarding my eyes with their ridiculous standards. You know," I chuckle, "because I'm blind".

"Then maybe animals aren't self conscious. No one is there to tell them no". Nate decides." What if you did get eyesight, then would you be?"

"I'm not sure. I've never seen myself or what the definition of 'pretty' looks like. I just know how it feels and smells and stuff".

"Your job, if you ever get eyesight, is to go to a mirror and stare at yourself. You are pretty, by the way, just so you know."

I nod. "Maybe someday".

"I have a question I bet you can't answer". Nate announced

"Try me".

"Why do men have nipples"?

I get out from under my desk, opening my eyes and find myself secured by the totally black space that I stand and walk to my bathroom in. When I turn on that light I hiss and back away, letting my painful eyes readjust.

When I look in the mirror, I am shocked by what I see. I've never really taken the time to look at myself before. As I lean over, holding myself over the sink countertop, I see what everyone else has.

Long, semi wavy brown hair that pokes at my shoulder blades, a long, straight mouth. I have creases in my forehead as I examine a slightly tan completion. A single scar runs short and shallow just above my lip. It's a white line, a flaw in my skin. my hair and forehead shine with the light above. piercing blue eyes glare back at me through the glare in the mirror. There are also half healed scars from the accident. One runs down my temple and end with a slight curl toward my ear. I just stared at this stranger. So clueless, so sad, so empty.

This isn't me, it has to be someone trying to be me, right? Maybe this is who he saw last, this was the last thing he saw before he walked out.

"You're a failure", I yell, the glass tells me the same exact words, matching my facial expressions. "You could have done something, anything, to help him but you didn't and now he's gone."

I scream, I can't take it. This stranger is getting inside my head, and she brought him with her. My arm swings across the countertop, knocking the mason jar of toothbrushes and bathroom necessities through the air and against the wall, shattering and falling to the tub in pieces." FUCK". I look back to the mirror. "You selfish piece of shit! You can't do anything right, you can't help anyone, why are you here, huh? Do you thin you're better than anyone else? You aren't. You don't deserve what you have, who you have, nothing. look at yourself, look at me, who are we to be here, polluting the earth just to leave without a mark of change for someone. Why waste space when you could save it for the greater good? no one cares, no one needs you. Go to hell-Go anywhere but here."