Beautiful, beautiful world

Under

II

READING BRAILLE REALLY isn't that hard to do, once you've learned it, memorized it, to be more exact. Letting it become a routine. It's just like an alphabet, but you can feel it. Little cells with six dots in each, every dot having its own meaning. I imagine the small dots to be creatures of their own, in their own little world. They're jumping all around the paper, forming into words as my fingers graze over them. They're like ants, all small, but together they can do so much.

I've been reading a lot lately, which is the only 'normal' thing I can still do. I used to hate reading, but now they're my only source of fantasy. My only escape from reality, apart from when I'm asleep or imagining. Or apart from the under. It's so different from reading with sight. When I read braille, it's like the words come to me. They teleport from the paper and into my mind.

Mr. Sterling really does believe, that I've gotten better at reading, and somewhat I think it's true. But I don't want to tell my parents. I don't want to get their hopes too high, and let them think it's getting better, because it isn't. And it won't ever be.

Jasmine is coming over later. My parents persuaded me to let her come over, despite my protests. I don't want my best friend to see me like this, to see how broken I am. How incompetent I am. Usually, Jasmine barges into my room, not bothering to even knock. She doesn't even need to tell me she's here, because she thinks that she lives here too. And she kind of did, she used to.

After the accident, everything changed. Jasmine still remained my best friend, she was still supportive of me, but her voice was always laden with something. Something I absolutely loathed; pity. It was in the way she spoke, in the way she hesitated to tell me things. She didn't even do it on purpose, it just happened. I distanced myself from her, for the sake of both of us. For the sake of her. 'No one wants to be friends with a blind freak like me' I thought, and by now, our whole school knows the story. knows about the accident. She's stopped doing that, though. She's gotten used to it, just like I won't ever do.

I hear her as soon as she's stepped foot inside our house. I hear her greeting my parents politely, probably wearing that shy, innocent smile of hers. I hear her stepping up the stairs; one, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine steps. She takes another four steps and she's here. She knocks softly on the door, before opening it. She inhales deeply, before muttering a soft, breathless,

        "Hi"

        "Hey"

She steps closer and the bed dips down as she sits on it, adjusting something that must be the pillows. Her breathing is ragged, presumably because she came here by bike. She almost always does. Her cheeks are probably flushed, giving her that pink glow, that I always was secretly jealous of. Jasmine is gorgeous. With her naturally black, soft, curly hair and brown eyes, the smooth brown creamy skin, she's got just the right combination.

I can feel my heart rate increasing, the darkness trying to pull me under again. It's an unexplainable situation. It's like an even darker darkness, than I'm used to, is pulling me down. Putting weight on me until I'm suffocating.

Breathe, Allyson, breathe. It's only jasmine. You're together, you're just the same. She's your best friend. She's love and light and kindness. She's Jasmine.

Her hand softly grasps mine and she doesn't have to speak, to let me know what she's thinking. Her hand is warm and soft, her soft fingertips grazing over my knuckles. I breathe deeply and squeeze her hand tightly, assuring her, that I'm not going under again. Assuring myself, that I'm not going under again. I'm hoping it's true, wishing it with every single living cell in my body. But it's been happening so often. So often that it's almost become a routine.