The world is bright, even brighter than what I imagined. The first seventeen years were dull, spending all my time touching all things, pretending to be satisfied with the texture of it.

Mom whispered, "The world is cruel, it's better for you not to see it."

Dad uttered, "Secrets are meant to be secrets. If you heard that "access denied"  don't ever cross it."

The confrontation lacks weight as they try to intoxicate me with various information as I grow up. Let me ask you, what's essential? Is it your sense of smell, your privilege to hear things, your ability to taste everything, or is it your hands? 

Ever considered living without your sight, who are you? You define yourself as to what people tell you. You dress yourself the way they wanted too coz after all, it's their satisfaction that matter. You touch things to feel it, hoping your brain can understand what's behind a rough or a fine surface. From the start, you are seeing things differently to what they see for your eyes are their mouth and they only tell lies.

Grandma said, "Be contented Lucy. You are denied of something for you are gifted about something. Isn't it fair?"

Grandpa said, "You'll realize it as you grow older. You'll realize in time how having no sight is more of a fortune than a disgrace."

Until I get older and my egocentric psyche grows with me, holding my hand and even taking over me. I wanted what's theirs, I wanted to have those. Let me have it please. Let me have a chance to see until I regret it. Regret seeing my mother cried in your hands, you cruel beast.

You deserve to die. Let her live.

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IN THE EYES OF THE KILLER

I heard Josh saying, before he went out of the car. He then held my arms and crossed it on his neck. After that, he held my legs and lifted me up, carrying me. 


I saw Rain coming our way and wore me a cap. I look around and saw the dawn's already breaking. The sky's giving enough light to each grave that's here. I wonder where's mom, they did even give her a decent funeral? 


"Rebecca Dawson, here it is.", Josh said. 


I then felt my toes are now meeting the ground. My toes on the right even felt the dew wanting to accept it all, from my toes up to the damaged part of my heel. 


Looking down, I see the name Rebecca Dawson. The instincts of a daughter who loves her mother so much is to cry. I can feel the stream of tears coming up. 


"Have you gone tired?", I said kneeling on top of her graveyard. 


"Have you gone tired seeing them cheating on you? Have you gone tired being a mother of a blind?" 


CHAPTER 22