Young Writers Society

I had weird dreams that night. Long ones. My dreams are usually creepy, but this was worse. Like I was back in school, dropping acid, but I was asleep this time. There were colors that I had never seen before, sounds and feelings that were all new to my mind. My body felt as though it were being torn form itself. It hurt so bad, I can't even place words to compare it. It was... immense, to say the least. The worst pain was in my eyes. Not like I was being poked in the eye, on the surface, but behind them, inside my head. It was a dream, I knew it wasn't real, but I could swear that the pain was there. The colors, the feelings, it was all there. It all felt real. Gradually the dreams slipped away, and I was able to return to a normal sleep, the kind you don't remember.

As consciousness returned to me, I could feel each part of my body waking up individually. As though each part of my body had experienced the same dream I had. I could feel the covers and the pillows were all drenched with sweat. My hearing returned, and I could hear a dog barking, and children playing outside. a coffee maker beeping, the faint buzzing of flies off in the distance. I could hear the apartment creaking, even leaves beating against each other in the faint breeze there must have been outside. I lay there, taking in the night's happenings, tried to analyze it. I still hadn't opened my eyes. I was still waiting. For nothing, I suppose, just waiting. Maybe for the rest of my body to wake up, maybe waiting for my eyesight to return from its sleep. I suppose my eyes had more to digest than anything. I could hear the ticking of a watch on my bed stand. I counted the ticks. One, two, three, four, five... the coffee maker stopped beeping. Twenty four, twenty five, twenty six... a car drives by too fast. One hundred and fifteen, one hundred and sixteen, almost two minutes now, I should have been able to see by then. I stayed in bed for what must have been fifteen minutes. I lost count after two hundred and something.

I sat up, still unable to see, and rubbed my eyes. Still nothing. Blackness. I was surrounded by blackness. What had I been doing the night before? I don't even remember. I didn't even know what day it was. Did I have work? It didn't matter, I wouldn't be able to do anything anyway. I couldn't work the calculator, or write down the numbers. I couldn't even go down the hall to pick up the forms for that day. I wouldn't be able to find my keys, or my wallet. Not that that mattered either, I wouldn't be able to drive. I could call in sick, if I could've just remembered put the phone on the receiver. I couldn't send my boss an email. I couldn't make any breakfast, I didn't even know what time it was. I started to panic. There was so much I couldn't do, I had relied on being able to see all my life. It had always been there, I'd taken it for granted.

I stood up, and felt my way to the door. I kept telling myself to breathe. In and out, in and out. Deeper, longer. Just to breathe. I hoped, wished, prayed that someone would call. Anyone. A telemarketer, he would be able to help. Anyone could help. Unfortunately, fate was not on my side this morning, if it weren't obvious already. My computer chimed in with a helpful “You've got mail!”

I kept my hand on the wall, stumbled my way to the kitchen, and found the phone receiver on the wall. No phone. I gazed over the receiver with my fingers, looking for a button, I found three. I pushed them all, hoping there was enough battery life in the phone left to make it beep at me. It started to ring. It was close, on the counter. I made my way slowly through the middle of the room, hands outstretched in front of me, looking for an elevated surface, and I found one, with my shin. I tripped and fell flat on my face, over what I am assuming is now a broken chair. I had hit my forehead hard on the linoleum tiling I had installed last summer. I could almost see for a second, but it faded quickly. But the light was there, I swear it was. Frightened now, I crawled on the floor on my hands and knees until I found a wall with handles on it. The counter. The phone had stopped ringing at me, but I knew where it was now, and I wasn't making the mile long journey back to the phone receiver that was five feet away. I pulled myself up ever so slowly on the counter top. There were knives there, sitting out, just waiting to bite into me. I patted the counter gently, covering every inch, away from me, back to me, away from me, back to me. Lucky for me, I found the phone before I found a knife. I couldn't see the touch pad, but I knew where the numbers were. 9-11, that's all I needed.

“This is nine one one, what is your emergency?”

“I- I-” The words wouldn't come out. I realized then, I hadn't yelled out when I tripped.

“I-”

“What is your emergency sir?”

Silence.

“Do you need help sir? Do I need to send an ambulance?”

I uttered a short grunt, that sounded like something in between 'Ugh” and “Fuck.”

“Alright sir, I'm going to send a unit out right away. I've got your address as 4201 Wabaker Drive North, and you're in apartment thirteen, is that correct?”

I uttered the same grunt that seemed to sound enough like 'yes' to get the girl to do what I needed.

“Ok sir, an ambulance is on it's way.”

I hung up the phone, I wasn't much for chitchat right now anyway.

That was four years ago. My eyesight still hasn't returned. But I wake up each and every morning, wishing, and hoping that it was all just one big dream. I wake up each morning and open my eyes, hoping I could see. I know the power is there, I saw light again once. Every morning I wake up, and I can't see, I am just as terrified as the first time. I know I can see again, the power is still there. It's there. I swear it's there. [/pre]