Young Writers Society

Jenna was born blind. It wasn’t dramatic, or mysterious. She was just born blind. End of story. Her parents were dismayed at first. They’d had three surviving children before Jenna, and they were fine and healthy kids. So it was a puzzle why Jenna couldn’t see. But her parents were sensible folk, and found work for her to do. She memorized the paths to the chicken coop, the barns, the pastures, and the pens, where she was able to aid in simple tasks. She was also set to work in the kitchens, carefully chopping or stirring whatever the cook set in front of her. At first, she was clumsy and unsure, frequently resulting in the knife slipping, or burning herself, or receiving a bruise from running into something. But as she grew up, she memorized the estate and its hustle and bustle. By the time she was eleven, she knew every last scrap of the place by heart. People even occasionally forgot she was blind, so accurate was her hearing, and so deft her knowledge of the mansion.

But she was blind. It wouldn’t do to forget it. If a new table is put in the wrong place, for example, she would walk into it, if not warned. And she can’t work in the kitchen by herself: there are too many things moving, and going on. She sits in a corner and chops, and that works fine.

Until she was eight, she grew up in total darkness. She didn’t know what it was like to see, and so it didn’t bother her much that she couldn’t. She thought everyone went around in the blackness. But then a Half-Sight decided to show her the world, and briefly sent her an illusion, displaying the mansion, and people around her, from the point of view of her non-working eyes. She was in the middle of feeding the chickens at the time. All of a sudden she screamed, dropping the bag of feed she had been holding, and clawed at her eyes, leaving deep, scarring furrows down her cheeks. The Half-Sight immediately realized what he (or she, Jenna doesn’t know who it was) had done, and yanked the illusion back. But the damage was done. The servants found her, curled in a little ball on the dirt, sobbing hysterically, pressing at her bleeding cheeks. “It was so bright,” she kept sobbing. “How could it be so bright?” This incident has scarred her forever, and not just her cheeks. She still dreams about that second of light and color, and wakes up in a cold sweat.

Jenna realized, eventually, that she was different, and that not everyone grew up in the blackness. And, as human nature will, that made her rather jealous of those who knew exactly what the word ‘color’ meant. Sometimes, though not very often, she thinks wistfully of what it must be like, to see something, and to know someone by sight. But then she remembers the Illusion, and decides that, overall, she’s better off without it. She is sensible, has very good hearing, and a wonderful physical memory. She’s also very good at recognising voices. However, she is also quite cynical about life in general.

For example, if someone says, “Ooh, look at that!” She’ll crane her head in the general direction the person is speaking towards, sniff, shrug, and say, “Hmph. I really can’t see what you’re on about.” She’s a lonely soul, and tells people she prefers it that way. Really, though, she just wants to feel like she’s not alone in the darkness. She’ll only admit this to herself, though, and even then, scolds herself for being soppy.