Tap. Tap. Tap.
The cane creates a small rhythm as I bring it to the linoleum floor repeatedly, creating my path as it reveals that nothing blocks my way. The presence of sunglasses sitting on the bridge of my nose have never felt so heavy as they do right now. Whether my eyes are squeezed shut or wide open, I'll never see the world in front of me.
I wasn't always blind. I had beautiful, blue-green eyes that showed me the whole world and then some. I was about to get a black belt in karate and graduate college in a few years. But after one reckless night, four surgeries, and a whole day of crying after I woke up blind, I'm here, learning how to live the life of a disabled twenty-two-year-old. This seemingly empty, large room seems like the perfect place to learn.
"Easy, isn't it?" My trainer's voice guides me. I get it, I'm blind, but I don't need to be treated like a baby.
I nod, the tapping of my cane like the pendulum of a clock, counting down how long it'll take until my new disability drives me to insanity.
"Next, you're going to learn how to read braille with Dr. Morton and then afterwards you'll learn how to deal with crowds."
Why am I even here? What's the point? I should've just died in that accident. It's not fair. I try blinking rapidly behind my sunglasses, as if my vision would come back, but it's pointless. It's not fair that my trainer gets to see. It's not fair that this Dr. Morton guy can see. None of it's fair.
"Ms. Rogers?" I hear the sounds of my trainer's shoes against the floor as she comes to me. "Ms. Rogers is everything alright?" She repeats. I drop my cane and sag to the floor, ripping off my sunglasses and throwing them far. Far enough that I hear them bump against the wall and clatter on the ground.
I begin to scream into my hands as I hear her approach. Closer. She tries to get her hands under my arms and we slowly rise together, my legs weakly abiding. I'm now crying, overcome with anger at the unfairness in this stupid world. She slips the cane back into my hands.
I can't do this for the rest of my life. I don't want to be blind. I don't want to learn how to read braille and ask for help everywhere I go. I feel my trainer leave my side, then return shortly afterwards.
"Ms. Rogers I have your glasses," she sounds young. Probably a little younger than me. Most likely an intern. I feel something inside of me begin to snap.
"Thank you," I mutter. "I'm so sorry for all this trouble." I reach out.1024Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzt3pdoi8px
"It's perfectly fine--Ow! Ma'am?!" I grab her wrist and she lets out a gasp as the wind gets knocked out of her when I slam her on the ground.1024Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr4QxHxXeOO
I listen for her heavy breathing and panicked movement and begin to swing my cane down on her. Over and over again. She starts crying, still trying to escape.
Unfair. I slam the cane down.
Unfair. I hear the snapping of ribs.
It's not fair. She weakly tries calling for help.
She lets out quiet whimpers of pain as I sit on her stomach and damaged ribs, pinning her to the ground and her arms to her side. She tries to wiggle free but she's apparently a smaller girl. Her hands try to attack me, but I press my thighs closer together, restricting her movement even more.
"Please," she begs. "Ma'am? Please!"
Her whimpers turn into screams as I find her face and dig my fingers into her eye sockets. It's her turn to feel the pain I feel. The pain of losing her vision. The pain of having to lose them only after being alive for little time.
She passes out. There's a small chance that she could die, unless from internal bleeding after me breaking her ribs. I stand up, bracing myself on my cane, and leave her, tapping the cane until I reach the door. My fingers are sticky with her blood. And my cane creates a small rhythm as I bring it to the linoleum floor repeatedly.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
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