Young Writers Society

Copied this from a Reddit writing prompt:

You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.

It had been two years since what they called The Great Blinding. It began, as near as anyone could tell, in New Zealand. Then as if in a line moving steadily westward, it struck Japan, Papua New Guinea, and the east coast of Australia at the same time. By the time it hit China one hour later, the news of it had already spread. In desperate attempts to escape, people flocked to trains heading west and onto highways packed with cars. The news came fast and furious before abruptly going silent.

Over the next several hours, Russia, India, and the Middle East were all affected. From Vatican City came images of hundreds of thousands kneeling in St. Peter's Square. In Paris, London, and Lagos, riots. Some said we were paying the price of hubris, punished either by God or Mother Earth. Others blamed governmental conspiracies, a malfunctioning satellite spreading radiation, or a lab leak from a military experiment.

By pure geographic luck, the Americas were last. Just 18 hours after it hit New Zealand, the Great Blinding hit New York City. But given that extra time, I and many others made preparations. Two hours after I heard the news about New Delhi, I had two carts piled high with food from Costco. As others tried to escape the city, I hunkered down. Filled the bathtub with water, boarded the windows, and watched my favorite movies for what I feared might be the last time.

When it struck, it wasn't what I expected. I had thought the world would go black, but instead, I just saw nothing. It's a weird concept to convey -- blindness. It's not like when you close your eyes. When you do that, you're still seeing. It might be just the back of your eyelids, but you still see something.

Blindness is different. You don't see black, or white, or anything else. You just don't see. So when it happened, I was confused at first. And then panic gripped me.

That first week was the hardest. I hardly moved at all except to cover myself with more blankets. It hit in mid-January, and the power did not last long after the initial event. Outside, I heard shouts and cries for a little while, but those went silent soon enough.

But, humanity is resilient. After two weeks, I began to hear clicking noises and realized that the power had come back on. Life began to resume. Slowly at first, and then as if in a rushing pace. Many perished from famine, but many survived as well.

I like to think I adapted better than most. I learned braille as soon as I could, and then began teaching others. With a skill that was so high in demand, I managed to buy myself a guide dog, and resumed my own life as if nothing happened. I went running in the mornings, drove to work in a self driving car, and took pleasant walks in the evenings with my guide dog. In many ways, my life improved.

One thing that the Great Blinding taught us though was to expect the unexpected. Still, there are things that shock you.

The unexpected happened to me while teaching class. It was a beginners class, and we were reading through "Go Spot, Go." A children's book with only a few simple words, it was meant mainly to introduce the concept of braille. Midway as we were reading, I blinked, and I saw light.

My breath caught in my throat as I blinked again and the light gave way to detail. Blurry shapes rearranged themselves into recognizable forms. White ceiling, blue paint, a white clock with black hands. I could see the cuffs of my sleeves, and the clothes on my body. Chosen only for feel, my shirt was a neon green.

Then I saw the writing. On the walls, on the ceiling, even on the floor was painted the same words, "Do not tell them you can see." Over and over it read in various sizes.

I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, and that's when I saw my students.

One of them raised his (its?) hand. I knew him as Liam. A 20 year old kid who lost both his parents. I had imagined him as a scrawny guy, short and thin. I don't know why, but I always pictured him with red hair and freckles too.

Looking at him now, I could not tell what I saw. It had arms and legs sure enough, but the torso was covered with eyes. And they were all staring at me.

"Mr. Caldwell?"