Blind Eyes

Chapter One

I still remember the sound of our footsteps as we stepped off the cobblestone path onto the worn dirt one. I remember the way the sun shone down on our faces, on our intertwined hands. I remember the excitement on his face as we walked to our favourite spot. And I remember how I felt, a way I could only feel in that moment, with the only person in the world that I could stand being around.

He was my best friend, that was true, but also so much more than that. He was the one person I could talk to who would understand what I was trying to say. Always.

And so, on that day, we walked off the stone path and made our way into the forest which lay right behind the outermost houses of the village. The forest itself, like our town, was nothing special. It was peaceful and quiet, made mainly of small pines which waved their friendly branches in the wind. And our spot, it was nothing special either. It wasn't so much a spot rather than a boulder, a flat boulder which would fit the two of us perfectly. When we sat down, our legs barely touching, we had enough space to be quite comfortable, but had the smooth rock been one inch smaller or bigger, it would not have been just right.

But it was just right, just like that day was. We came here so often, to talk. We would walk from the town, sit, and talk. We talked for as long as we wanted, as long as we had something to say, as long as we had a single thought on our mind. And then, when we were empty, we would make our way back to the village.

Some days we would talk for a very short time, other times for hours on end. Sometimes I would rest my head on his shoulder, and other times he'd rest his on mine. The sound of his voice soothed me, just as I'm sure mine did to him.

On that particular day, one of the first days of autumn, we talked for many hours, and it felt the same as it always did. I remember everything we talked about that day, not the specific words we used, but more importantly the ideas that we wanted to share with each other. We talked about the sun. We talked about the our families. We talked about the most recent news in the town. And as I looked into his eyes, he ended the conversation by telling me how happy he was, how happy he would always be, and how he hoped I was just as happy as him.

And so that is why, now, thinking about how he walked me back to my house and held me to him while softly saying goodbye, saying that he'd see me tomorrow and the next day and the next day after that, it is so hard for me to understand what has happened.

Because now, now I sit here, on this cold, hard chair, and I am so lonely. I cannot talk to anyone, and all my unspoken thoughts swirl around in mind continuously. They float around my brain, bumping into each other, melting into each other, until I can no longer tell one idea from another. The longer they stay there, the worse they get. I wonder how bad my mind might get if these thoughts never manage to escape.

I wonder what the others think of me as they walk by. They see my expressionless face and probably think I am in shock. Maybe they think that I want to cry. They most definitely think that I am sad. But they would be wrong. I am not in shock, I am not sad, and I don't want to cry. There is only one thing I feel, and it is hate. I feel it so strongly that it consumes me. It spreads over my limbs, heating them with this insufferable anger that doesn't want to go away. It whispers to me, screams at me, that it won't go away unless it is fed, until I feed it.

I hate because it is the only thing I am capable of doing. I remember the night of that day that he and I left our spot for the last time. I fell asleep that night just as I always did. I was awakened some hours later by my mother shaking me awake, tears streaming down her cheeks. My father stood by her side, his mouth a thin line.

I remember her telling me that something horrible had happened. I asked her to tell me and she just shook her head, unable to speak. Instead of asking her again, I screamed, louder than I had ever screamed before. I screamed at her to tell me right at that moment what had happened. I screamed and screamed. I was screaming because I already knew what had happened. I didn't know how it happened, but there was only one thing I cared about, and I knew that my mom was crying because something had happened to him.