Traversing Oceans

A/N:

This is an entry for The Totally Rad Writing Contests of OminouslyAnonymous.

Prompt: Love is Blind

Word Count: 2,000+

Any and all kind of constructive criticism is welcome as long as it isn't intended to make me rip out my soul.

Thanks for reading. :)

* * *

It's closing in on me — oblivion. But I wonder how it's possible for someone like me to know the difference when darkness is all I have ever known.

"Grandpa."

The world I have lived in is simply me holding the hands of people I love and having faith in them, hoping they'd lead me in the right direction and the rest I would walk on my own. Maybe the faith ensured that it wasn't possible for me to love them less.

"Grandpa," says the little one, tugging at the sleeve of my shirt. "Grandma told me to tell you that you should come inside and take your medicines or she will get very angry."

I smile as I reach out for his hand which he places in mine immediately. "Well, that wouldn't be pleasant, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. She throws things when she's angry," he mumbles making me chuckle.

All of a sudden, he asks in a tiny voice, just as tiny as him I imagine, "Why do you come out to this river, Grandpa?"

"Because it's right behind our house," I reply, my words dripping with sarcasm.

"So is that garden," he says, most likely pointing toward said garden.

Scoffing softly at his response, I reply in all honesty, "Because the scent, the sounds of the river running — they all remind me of home."

And I knew what his next question would be even before he asks it. "But isn't this your home?"

Letting him lead me back to the house, I simply hum in response, knowing full well that there is no way this little boy can know what I now understand from when I was his age. What home really means.

As we walk further away from the river, the sounds of my memories fading with every step, I sigh wistfully. Even living as a boy who had known no light, there was still more hope with me when I was younger.

Along with the reckless abandon of being.

A girl with a pure heart.

And a dog named after a bird.

* * *

"FINCH!"

I felt leaves crunching beneath my nimble feet as I raced wildly around the meadow, cutting through the branches with my bare arms as they left scrapes on my skin.

Once in a while, when nobody was watching every move I made and prompting me not to tread dangerous waters — both, figurative and literal — I let myself loose. Once in a while, I liked to pretend I was a boy who could see.

"Finch! Where'd you go, boy?" I yelled into an expanse I had come to know better than my own home.

It began as a soft rustling of branches and dried leaves until the sound became an earthquake bounding towards me and I felt Finch pounce upon my body, toppling me almost completely until I managed to regain my balance.