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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | “There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
I always hated that quote. I preferred “There’s always a silver lining.” Since it wasn’t so literal for me.
Being blind kind of sucked.
Right, where was I? Oh yes, hating stuff.
I hated that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ quote. It was because of my condition where my vision slowly shrank, I don’t remember the technical term but most folks call it ‘Tunnel Vision’.
Really hate that.
So I figure I should go out with one last hurrah!
Most folks who are about to be married usually go out to a strip club.
People who are about to die do whatever the hell they want.
I was going to go blind so I figured I’d go find the best looking thing out there and engrave it into my brain that I’d never forget. Problem is, I had no idea what I was looking for.
I hated that feeling of being lost.
But I had money and I had plenty of time so I travelled the world.
Mountains looked nice enough but I was too cold to appreciate them.
Monuments were impressive but they never really lived up to the hype.
Hell I’ve thrown money at dozens of prostitutes just to see a bunch of girls all over me.
My wife really hated that.
Didn’t surprise me that she left.
Honestly it wasn’t even the prostitutes that got her. It was the fact that I spent years away from her looking for the last perfect image.
Well, I’m an idiot. I know that now. I should’ve stayed with her, been there with her. She was that perfect image, the one thing engraved into my head that I’d never forget.
I don’t even care if I’m blind anymore. I’d give up all my senses just to be with her, hell I’d even give up seeing her if I had that chance.
But now it was too late.
I have Tunnel Vision.
And I hate it.
| "That's quite the trip you have planned. The press are having a fit. I didn't even think it was possible."
"If I do it, I'll be the first."
"How do you plan on getting back?"
"Oh. There is no coming back. At least, not for me, not this trip. It's kind of poetic in my head. Darkness into darkness and all that."
"John... you know I'd help you in any way I can, but what you're talking about here. It's literal suicide, and for what? Blindness isn't anywhere near the hindrance it used to be!"
"I know all that, and I'm tried of people calling me selfish because of it. It's my life, I get to go out on my own terms for whatever bloody reasons I feel like.
Besides, what's the point of being a rich old coot if you don't do something stupid and reckless near the end"
"This is a bit different than going on a safari without a guide John"
"The old Antarctic, in the days when the corner bits of the earth were still hard to reach, is littered with the bodies of my ilk.
Rich idiots whose final days were spent sailing to unknown shores in the hopes of seeing something never before seen by another person.
I'll be just like that. Except madder and colder and even further away"
"Further away is right. I can't even imagine the distance. I mean, I literally can't."
"No, neither can I really. The figure came back at 40.5AU, or, about 3.7 billion miles."
"Fuck. That's..."
"... the furtherest a living person will have gone before. Apparently it's all much easier without worrying about a return leg of the trip, and UNSA seemed to forget a lot of their ethical qualms once my cheque book opened"
"John. I get what you are doing. At least I think. But I still don't get the 'why' of it all. By the time you get there, you'll be almost completely blind, what can you possibly see out there with such a small field of vision that makes all this effort worth it?"
"A Pale Blue Dot. About the size of a pixel. Yes, if I can see that with my final moments, that would do quite nicely" |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | "That's quite the trip you have planned. The press are having a fit. I didn't even think it was possible."
"If I do it, I'll be the first."
"How do you plan on getting back?"
"Oh. There is no coming back. At least, not for me, not this trip. It's kind of poetic in my head. Darkness into darkness and all that."
"John... you know I'd help you in any way I can, but what you're talking about here. It's literal suicide, and for what? Blindness isn't anywhere near the hindrance it used to be!"
"I know all that, and I'm tried of people calling me selfish because of it. It's my life, I get to go out on my own terms for whatever bloody reasons I feel like.
Besides, what's the point of being a rich old coot if you don't do something stupid and reckless near the end"
"This is a bit different than going on a safari without a guide John"
"The old Antarctic, in the days when the corner bits of the earth were still hard to reach, is littered with the bodies of my ilk.
Rich idiots whose final days were spent sailing to unknown shores in the hopes of seeing something never before seen by another person.
I'll be just like that. Except madder and colder and even further away"
"Further away is right. I can't even imagine the distance. I mean, I literally can't."
"No, neither can I really. The figure came back at 40.5AU, or, about 3.7 billion miles."
"Fuck. That's..."
"... the furtherest a living person will have gone before. Apparently it's all much easier without worrying about a return leg of the trip, and UNSA seemed to forget a lot of their ethical qualms once my cheque book opened"
"John. I get what you are doing. At least I think. But I still don't get the 'why' of it all. By the time you get there, you'll be almost completely blind, what can you possibly see out there with such a small field of vision that makes all this effort worth it?"
"A Pale Blue Dot. About the size of a pixel. Yes, if I can see that with my final moments, that would do quite nicely" |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | "That's quite the trip you have planned. The press are having a fit. I didn't even think it was possible."
"If I do it, I'll be the first."
"How do you plan on getting back?"
"Oh. There is no coming back. At least, not for me, not this trip. It's kind of poetic in my head. Darkness into darkness and all that."
"John... you know I'd help you in any way I can, but what you're talking about here. It's literal suicide, and for what? Blindness isn't anywhere near the hindrance it used to be!"
"I know all that, and I'm tried of people calling me selfish because of it. It's my life, I get to go out on my own terms for whatever bloody reasons I feel like.
Besides, what's the point of being a rich old coot if you don't do something stupid and reckless near the end"
"This is a bit different than going on a safari without a guide John"
"The old Antarctic, in the days when the corner bits of the earth were still hard to reach, is littered with the bodies of my ilk.
Rich idiots whose final days were spent sailing to unknown shores in the hopes of seeing something never before seen by another person.
I'll be just like that. Except madder and colder and even further away"
"Further away is right. I can't even imagine the distance. I mean, I literally can't."
"No, neither can I really. The figure came back at 40.5AU, or, about 3.7 billion miles."
"Fuck. That's..."
"... the furtherest a living person will have gone before. Apparently it's all much easier without worrying about a return leg of the trip, and UNSA seemed to forget a lot of their ethical qualms once my cheque book opened"
"John. I get what you are doing. At least I think. But I still don't get the 'why' of it all. By the time you get there, you'll be almost completely blind, what can you possibly see out there with such a small field of vision that makes all this effort worth it?"
"A Pale Blue Dot. About the size of a pixel. Yes, if I can see that with my final moments, that would do quite nicely" |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | This is just my actual life. It's called retinitis pigmentosa. I'm going to Iceland to look at stuff in April. I know this is violating the rules, or whatever, but I just can't not say something. Also nonfiction is subjective enough that some would argue there is no nonfiction, that all writing is interpretation, and that all that matters is whether the story is well written. So let's just admit nonfiction is still writing, and not take this down. Please.
The truth is the things I want to see most are not a sweeping landscape despite my current mission to go to Iceland and look at stuff.. The things I want to see the most are simple and mundane. I want to see my husband's face as he ages, my children's as they grow. I want to see as much of my family as I can before I can't anymore.
It isn't even that I will want to see them, it is that I want them to be seen. There is this incredible emotional need to see and be seen. I don't want them to ever feel like I don't see them.
It is silly to think that I need to physically see them in order to metaphorically see them... but in a weird way we do need that physicality, that immediacy, that connection.
One day I will wander the gallery of my mind, years after I can no longer see, and I will look at the faces of my family. The image will be faded and blurred, pieced together from small fractions of their faces that I glimpsed at in the last year's when my vision was a small pin prick of clarity in a swirl of blurred colors and shapes.
The last image is a collage hung in my heart and revisited impulsively, driven by a nagging physical need to SEE them, to know them as they are, the image shifting, morphing, fracturing and fraying...
And when I let that image go, when I stop feeling that last image to be a true image of them, stop needing it to be so, that moment will be the first moment when I will be truly blind, a true citizen of the sightless world. I will be a new self in a new world.
The last image will be an idea, a memory of a previous life, a previous me. | "That's quite the trip you have planned. The press are having a fit. I didn't even think it was possible."
"If I do it, I'll be the first."
"How do you plan on getting back?"
"Oh. There is no coming back. At least, not for me, not this trip. It's kind of poetic in my head. Darkness into darkness and all that."
"John... you know I'd help you in any way I can, but what you're talking about here. It's literal suicide, and for what? Blindness isn't anywhere near the hindrance it used to be!"
"I know all that, and I'm tried of people calling me selfish because of it. It's my life, I get to go out on my own terms for whatever bloody reasons I feel like.
Besides, what's the point of being a rich old coot if you don't do something stupid and reckless near the end"
"This is a bit different than going on a safari without a guide John"
"The old Antarctic, in the days when the corner bits of the earth were still hard to reach, is littered with the bodies of my ilk.
Rich idiots whose final days were spent sailing to unknown shores in the hopes of seeing something never before seen by another person.
I'll be just like that. Except madder and colder and even further away"
"Further away is right. I can't even imagine the distance. I mean, I literally can't."
"No, neither can I really. The figure came back at 40.5AU, or, about 3.7 billion miles."
"Fuck. That's..."
"... the furtherest a living person will have gone before. Apparently it's all much easier without worrying about a return leg of the trip, and UNSA seemed to forget a lot of their ethical qualms once my cheque book opened"
"John. I get what you are doing. At least I think. But I still don't get the 'why' of it all. By the time you get there, you'll be almost completely blind, what can you possibly see out there with such a small field of vision that makes all this effort worth it?"
"A Pale Blue Dot. About the size of a pixel. Yes, if I can see that with my final moments, that would do quite nicely" |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | It's been about a year since the diagnosis. The doctors said it was incurable and it would rapidly progress. Luckily the doctor didn't know everything in this case. The initial estimate was that I'd be completely blind within a couple of weeks but, like I said...one year later and here we are.
After the diagnosis there were a lot of tears as to be expected, mostly from my mate...and myself...ok a lot from myself...shut up I can't help that I'm sensitive.
So about a week after it happened we decided to use the funds we'd saved up from working to go in search of what I called my "final sunrise" something that would stick with me for the rest of time. It started in London, we saw Big Ben, Buckingham Palace (a little too rich for my tastes but hey, to each their own), the Millennium Wheel was really cool, though being that high up gave me vertigo.
After London, we went north, to the land where my family hailed, Scotland! I got to see our family estate and got to show my mate around it. The air was so clear that day and the sky the purest blue. But still, that sunset escaped me. A month after the United Kingdom and we were off to Egypt for a pilgrimage to see the place where my and his faith were practiced in earnest millennia ago. By now my sight had begun to narrow but still, the Great Pyramids were as awe inspiring to me as they must have been to travelers all those era's ago.
Though we couldn't go everywhere we wanted, because of work, because of life, because of all those little moments. We still went on one last trip. My mate surprised me over dinner one evening in October, right around Halloween, he'd gotten two round trip tickets to Tokyo. Both of us being unapologetic fans of anime of all kinds, it was the magnum opus of our escapade around the world. Tokyo, Kyoto and the Great Shrine of Inari, and of course, the Hokkaido Fox Village. I got to pet one of those catdogs up close! Best. Day. EVER! I could just make out those derpy looks on their muzzles as they tried to steal my backpack.
So...did I ever find my sunset? I'm about to. This will probably be the last thing I see. I only have a few days left before it goes completely dark. This will most likely be my last time writing like this. So much for my career as a writer right? ah well. I'd go on a spiel about the best-laid plans and something deep like that as I'm often known to do, but as my best man just pointed out, I'm about to be late for my own wedding!
I don't know if anyone will ever read this diary thing besides me and Eric, but if you happen to stumble upon it take my advice: See the world as if it was the last time you'd be able to. Take in each color, each detail, absorb it and memorize it, you'll be glad you did later.
(So that's my first time ever posting here and the first time EVER publishing anything I've written online. I know, my grammar sucks.) | All this time spent and what have I truly seen, months spent in boardrooms, years spent on the road. Always away never here, never here and I can't go back. I have months left of my vision, my therapists said I should find the perfect image, to treasure the world with.
At first I thought I should travel to the furthest end of the worlds, to capture the beauty of the Savannah, or cross the frozen wastes and stare into the endless seas of stars. Conquer the greatest monuments in the world and appreciate them in all their glory. But that would be far too easy, I know what I want to see, what I have lost, what I chose to give away.
It wont be long now, with each passing hour I see a little less color a little less light. I walk up to a familiar yet unfamiliar house, my messages had finally been accepted, yet I don't understand why they couldn't just send me the videos. My past, my mistakes all in front of me. She opens the door, a sympathetic smile grips her face, she says nothing leading me to my old tv.
I drag the old beaten arm chair as close as I can to the screen and the videos play. Unfamiliar scenes played out in front of me, birthdays, first days of schools, graduations, all of them unknown to me. I break into tears cry, why did I choose my path, what more did I want. As the tears fall down my vision slowly fades, perhaps this was my perfect image, the other past.
I stood up, preparing to leave forever, to go find a care home to collapse in, when a hand touches me on my back. A touch I have not felt in such a long time, begs me to turn around. Standing behind me, there were those who I had left behind, standing there, some smiling, some crying and some angry. A voice whispers, "We are still here, you are still here, it will not be easy, but you have a chance to get back what you lost." |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I've been saving this compliment for months now. It's nothing too special. Not a Magnum Opus by any stretch of the imagination, but it'll have the desired effect. My vision is nearing its end. I'm not scared. To some, blindness may be terrifying; however, I had a plan. We've taken measures to assure a long and comfortable life when it does finally go. Besides, I have her.
I'm sitting up in bed, an activity I'd seen much of recently, and contemplating my master plan. A flurry of emotion washes over me. It usually does when my mind becomes occupied with her. I panic momentarily, fearing the worst, but manage to bring myself to peace.
I hear footsteps on the landing below. Soft and muffled from the thick green carpet that covers both the tight, clumsy staircase and the attic which had become our bedroom. A movement draws what's left of my vision to the stairs as she hops up the last step.
Draped in her favourite oversized T-shirt, which dropped nearly down to her knees, she flops down next to me. Her beauty never did lie in elegance. Rather, it was her childlike glee and jumpiness that pulled the corners of my lips into a smile. Her imperfections brought her to life, just as they stole my heart the moment I laid my eyes on her. The same eyes that had little life left in them.
I turn over to her and whisper her name. She returns my gaze. "Yes?" she replies. "I have something very important to tell you." I say "You have a very special talent. Something nobody but you can ever do. You alone can make me smile and laugh and feel butterflies in my stomach when moments before I'd been sobbing like a lost child."
I examine her face, awaiting her response. She smiles, slowly at first, then a full grin. Her cheeks rise and she begins to squint, ever so slightly, showing her laugh lines in the corner of her eyes. She shies away from compliments, so her chin tilts downwards. Some loose strands of hair tumble forward and cast small shadows over her face. She's trying to hide, but doesn't break eye contact with me. Her big, brown doe eyes are easy to get lost in.
This adorable smile is one I've come to love. It encapsulates all of her beauty and proves her humbleness. Not knowing just how beautiful she is makes her even more beautiful in a sense. I close my eyes and lean in for a kiss. Our lips touch gently. Then, calmly and carefully, I rest my head in the crook of her neck. We lay together in tranquility, listening to the rise and fall of our chests and the beating of our hearts.
Sleep comes for me. As I feel myself losing consciousness, I recall the image of her shy smile and feel my own lips curl into a grin. My breathing slows and the light fades - forevermore. | All this time spent and what have I truly seen, months spent in boardrooms, years spent on the road. Always away never here, never here and I can't go back. I have months left of my vision, my therapists said I should find the perfect image, to treasure the world with.
At first I thought I should travel to the furthest end of the worlds, to capture the beauty of the Savannah, or cross the frozen wastes and stare into the endless seas of stars. Conquer the greatest monuments in the world and appreciate them in all their glory. But that would be far too easy, I know what I want to see, what I have lost, what I chose to give away.
It wont be long now, with each passing hour I see a little less color a little less light. I walk up to a familiar yet unfamiliar house, my messages had finally been accepted, yet I don't understand why they couldn't just send me the videos. My past, my mistakes all in front of me. She opens the door, a sympathetic smile grips her face, she says nothing leading me to my old tv.
I drag the old beaten arm chair as close as I can to the screen and the videos play. Unfamiliar scenes played out in front of me, birthdays, first days of schools, graduations, all of them unknown to me. I break into tears cry, why did I choose my path, what more did I want. As the tears fall down my vision slowly fades, perhaps this was my perfect image, the other past.
I stood up, preparing to leave forever, to go find a care home to collapse in, when a hand touches me on my back. A touch I have not felt in such a long time, begs me to turn around. Standing behind me, there were those who I had left behind, standing there, some smiling, some crying and some angry. A voice whispers, "We are still here, you are still here, it will not be easy, but you have a chance to get back what you lost." |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | and as my vision starts to fade
i search tirelessly for the view
the one that i'll see for the rest of my days
the one that will still drive me through;
will it be a sunrise bright
set alight by stark contrast and hue
or maybe the forest on a summer morning
grass glittering with chilling dew;
i can fret as i may and believe what i like
for i never had thought that i knew
but from the second they told me i knew it quite well
i want to see always an image of you.
| All this time spent and what have I truly seen, months spent in boardrooms, years spent on the road. Always away never here, never here and I can't go back. I have months left of my vision, my therapists said I should find the perfect image, to treasure the world with.
At first I thought I should travel to the furthest end of the worlds, to capture the beauty of the Savannah, or cross the frozen wastes and stare into the endless seas of stars. Conquer the greatest monuments in the world and appreciate them in all their glory. But that would be far too easy, I know what I want to see, what I have lost, what I chose to give away.
It wont be long now, with each passing hour I see a little less color a little less light. I walk up to a familiar yet unfamiliar house, my messages had finally been accepted, yet I don't understand why they couldn't just send me the videos. My past, my mistakes all in front of me. She opens the door, a sympathetic smile grips her face, she says nothing leading me to my old tv.
I drag the old beaten arm chair as close as I can to the screen and the videos play. Unfamiliar scenes played out in front of me, birthdays, first days of schools, graduations, all of them unknown to me. I break into tears cry, why did I choose my path, what more did I want. As the tears fall down my vision slowly fades, perhaps this was my perfect image, the other past.
I stood up, preparing to leave forever, to go find a care home to collapse in, when a hand touches me on my back. A touch I have not felt in such a long time, begs me to turn around. Standing behind me, there were those who I had left behind, standing there, some smiling, some crying and some angry. A voice whispers, "We are still here, you are still here, it will not be easy, but you have a chance to get back what you lost." |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | She took a step forward, her legs aching with years of experience. Her body was not what it once was, but she had used it well. The bruises, the scars, and even the wrinkles all had a story to tell. How she loved to tell them. Children listened intently, eyes open in awe to the sacrifices of the olden days. Those eyes, so much less scarred than hers.
Her eyes held a mysterious depth that absorbed attention with unsatiable hunger. No one could look at those eyes and come out unscathed. Not even her. The stories these told... And not a single word spoken. She saw empires rise and fall all over again everytime she stood in front of a mirror. She saw images of the Sunedeith War and the Seventh Revolution. She saw the dying embers of what once was her city. She still kept one small black stone from her home, stolen from the garden path of her grandmothers' house. A memento of times past and a reminder of continued survival. Her grandmother had survived the Red Eclipse. Her house was one of the few structures that survived the second fall of Bravor. Not that it mattered. Her grandmother had long ago left this realm. As for her, she never returned to that house. It was old and a painful reminder of war. Much like herself, it had seen too much.
People respected her in a way they would respect a God. They would see in her hope, strength, and guidance. They did not see humanity. She was their victories and failures. She was her ship and her soldiers. Even to the weapons they carried. She was reminder of war. The feared her. Not that she cared about any of it. She had fulfilled her role and now she wanted nothing more than to live as simply Selena.
And to the many children sitting in front of her, she was Selena, the storyteller. Children where the only ones who saw her as just another human. An old lady with bags of treats and stories. Stories their parents would never dare tell them. But oh did they need to know. Knowledge as such was hard to come by. Generations to come would find themselved lacking. And this was dangerous, she knew as much. These stories could not die with her.
She also knew, she had little time. The shakes had started. Her vision blurred day by day. Her field of vision growing small and pitiful. She had seen so much already, feeling she had seen too much of the world for it to matter. But she was wrong.
There was one more thing.
Her mother, as strong of a woman and fighter as she was, was also an lover. As a lover, she was an artist. It led to much suffering but her mother loved life, as dark as it was. She simply painted in darker colours. She always hid a little bit of brightness that you could only catch if you looked for it in the right light. However, it had all been lost in the Seventh Revolution. At least, that is what she believed, until Caleb gave her a box.
Caleb was an orphan of barely 13 years old. Smart as a whip, tough as the rock in her pocket. Like her mother, he was an artist too. He appreciated life the way younglings do, naive and resilient with a mind full of wonder. So much curiosity hidden in the depth of their mind, waiting to come out at a moments notice. When he was found in Aria 72, he held his one material posession close to his chest. At mere 4 years old he had survived the end of the world as he knew it only clutching a box full of dried paints and broken brushes. A strange posession for a boy so young found in the remnants of a T-2378z. But he kept the box close, insisting on becoming the first artist of the New World. His father, a surgeon, had once told him that a world without art was only a skeleton of civilization.
Caleb took his mission with pride, discovering colours even in the solid grey walls of the New Aria settlement. He painted with a passion and precision his father would proud of. Selena had never once seen his work. Caleb always painted in secret.
With expecting eyes and a whispered thank you, he handed her a simple brown box. Inside, a treasure no one but Caleb had seen. A treasure so precious, it would be first shared between them. She knew she wouldn't be able to appreciate every detail, not that it mattered. She opened the box and her world exploded in colour. Even in the blurrines of her sight she would recognise her home anywhere. Selena clutched the rock in her posession close to her chest and smiled, looking up to Caleb. Such a beautiful boy, he reminded her so much of her father. Caleb had given her the most beautiful gift. He had given Selena her home. So she gave him one of his own. As Caleb held the rock in his hand, she looked at his face and the world around her disappeared. But she was not alone. Caleb held her hand and hugged her. No, she was not alone. She had a new family now.
Sorry for formatting or mistakes. English is not my first language and I used my phone to type. Feedback welcome. Enjoy! | All this time spent and what have I truly seen, months spent in boardrooms, years spent on the road. Always away never here, never here and I can't go back. I have months left of my vision, my therapists said I should find the perfect image, to treasure the world with.
At first I thought I should travel to the furthest end of the worlds, to capture the beauty of the Savannah, or cross the frozen wastes and stare into the endless seas of stars. Conquer the greatest monuments in the world and appreciate them in all their glory. But that would be far too easy, I know what I want to see, what I have lost, what I chose to give away.
It wont be long now, with each passing hour I see a little less color a little less light. I walk up to a familiar yet unfamiliar house, my messages had finally been accepted, yet I don't understand why they couldn't just send me the videos. My past, my mistakes all in front of me. She opens the door, a sympathetic smile grips her face, she says nothing leading me to my old tv.
I drag the old beaten arm chair as close as I can to the screen and the videos play. Unfamiliar scenes played out in front of me, birthdays, first days of schools, graduations, all of them unknown to me. I break into tears cry, why did I choose my path, what more did I want. As the tears fall down my vision slowly fades, perhaps this was my perfect image, the other past.
I stood up, preparing to leave forever, to go find a care home to collapse in, when a hand touches me on my back. A touch I have not felt in such a long time, begs me to turn around. Standing behind me, there were those who I had left behind, standing there, some smiling, some crying and some angry. A voice whispers, "We are still here, you are still here, it will not be easy, but you have a chance to get back what you lost." |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | “There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
I always hated that quote. I preferred “There’s always a silver lining.” Since it wasn’t so literal for me.
Being blind kind of sucked.
Right, where was I? Oh yes, hating stuff.
I hated that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ quote. It was because of my condition where my vision slowly shrank, I don’t remember the technical term but most folks call it ‘Tunnel Vision’.
Really hate that.
So I figure I should go out with one last hurrah!
Most folks who are about to be married usually go out to a strip club.
People who are about to die do whatever the hell they want.
I was going to go blind so I figured I’d go find the best looking thing out there and engrave it into my brain that I’d never forget. Problem is, I had no idea what I was looking for.
I hated that feeling of being lost.
But I had money and I had plenty of time so I travelled the world.
Mountains looked nice enough but I was too cold to appreciate them.
Monuments were impressive but they never really lived up to the hype.
Hell I’ve thrown money at dozens of prostitutes just to see a bunch of girls all over me.
My wife really hated that.
Didn’t surprise me that she left.
Honestly it wasn’t even the prostitutes that got her. It was the fact that I spent years away from her looking for the last perfect image.
Well, I’m an idiot. I know that now. I should’ve stayed with her, been there with her. She was that perfect image, the one thing engraved into my head that I’d never forget.
I don’t even care if I’m blind anymore. I’d give up all my senses just to be with her, hell I’d even give up seeing her if I had that chance.
But now it was too late.
I have Tunnel Vision.
And I hate it.
| All this time spent and what have I truly seen, months spent in boardrooms, years spent on the road. Always away never here, never here and I can't go back. I have months left of my vision, my therapists said I should find the perfect image, to treasure the world with.
At first I thought I should travel to the furthest end of the worlds, to capture the beauty of the Savannah, or cross the frozen wastes and stare into the endless seas of stars. Conquer the greatest monuments in the world and appreciate them in all their glory. But that would be far too easy, I know what I want to see, what I have lost, what I chose to give away.
It wont be long now, with each passing hour I see a little less color a little less light. I walk up to a familiar yet unfamiliar house, my messages had finally been accepted, yet I don't understand why they couldn't just send me the videos. My past, my mistakes all in front of me. She opens the door, a sympathetic smile grips her face, she says nothing leading me to my old tv.
I drag the old beaten arm chair as close as I can to the screen and the videos play. Unfamiliar scenes played out in front of me, birthdays, first days of schools, graduations, all of them unknown to me. I break into tears cry, why did I choose my path, what more did I want. As the tears fall down my vision slowly fades, perhaps this was my perfect image, the other past.
I stood up, preparing to leave forever, to go find a care home to collapse in, when a hand touches me on my back. A touch I have not felt in such a long time, begs me to turn around. Standing behind me, there were those who I had left behind, standing there, some smiling, some crying and some angry. A voice whispers, "We are still here, you are still here, it will not be easy, but you have a chance to get back what you lost." |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | All this time spent and what have I truly seen, months spent in boardrooms, years spent on the road. Always away never here, never here and I can't go back. I have months left of my vision, my therapists said I should find the perfect image, to treasure the world with.
At first I thought I should travel to the furthest end of the worlds, to capture the beauty of the Savannah, or cross the frozen wastes and stare into the endless seas of stars. Conquer the greatest monuments in the world and appreciate them in all their glory. But that would be far too easy, I know what I want to see, what I have lost, what I chose to give away.
It wont be long now, with each passing hour I see a little less color a little less light. I walk up to a familiar yet unfamiliar house, my messages had finally been accepted, yet I don't understand why they couldn't just send me the videos. My past, my mistakes all in front of me. She opens the door, a sympathetic smile grips her face, she says nothing leading me to my old tv.
I drag the old beaten arm chair as close as I can to the screen and the videos play. Unfamiliar scenes played out in front of me, birthdays, first days of schools, graduations, all of them unknown to me. I break into tears cry, why did I choose my path, what more did I want. As the tears fall down my vision slowly fades, perhaps this was my perfect image, the other past.
I stood up, preparing to leave forever, to go find a care home to collapse in, when a hand touches me on my back. A touch I have not felt in such a long time, begs me to turn around. Standing behind me, there were those who I had left behind, standing there, some smiling, some crying and some angry. A voice whispers, "We are still here, you are still here, it will not be easy, but you have a chance to get back what you lost." |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | All this time spent and what have I truly seen, months spent in boardrooms, years spent on the road. Always away never here, never here and I can't go back. I have months left of my vision, my therapists said I should find the perfect image, to treasure the world with.
At first I thought I should travel to the furthest end of the worlds, to capture the beauty of the Savannah, or cross the frozen wastes and stare into the endless seas of stars. Conquer the greatest monuments in the world and appreciate them in all their glory. But that would be far too easy, I know what I want to see, what I have lost, what I chose to give away.
It wont be long now, with each passing hour I see a little less color a little less light. I walk up to a familiar yet unfamiliar house, my messages had finally been accepted, yet I don't understand why they couldn't just send me the videos. My past, my mistakes all in front of me. She opens the door, a sympathetic smile grips her face, she says nothing leading me to my old tv.
I drag the old beaten arm chair as close as I can to the screen and the videos play. Unfamiliar scenes played out in front of me, birthdays, first days of schools, graduations, all of them unknown to me. I break into tears cry, why did I choose my path, what more did I want. As the tears fall down my vision slowly fades, perhaps this was my perfect image, the other past.
I stood up, preparing to leave forever, to go find a care home to collapse in, when a hand touches me on my back. A touch I have not felt in such a long time, begs me to turn around. Standing behind me, there were those who I had left behind, standing there, some smiling, some crying and some angry. A voice whispers, "We are still here, you are still here, it will not be easy, but you have a chance to get back what you lost." |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | It's been about a year since the diagnosis. The doctors said it was incurable and it would rapidly progress. Luckily the doctor didn't know everything in this case. The initial estimate was that I'd be completely blind within a couple of weeks but, like I said...one year later and here we are.
After the diagnosis there were a lot of tears as to be expected, mostly from my mate...and myself...ok a lot from myself...shut up I can't help that I'm sensitive.
So about a week after it happened we decided to use the funds we'd saved up from working to go in search of what I called my "final sunrise" something that would stick with me for the rest of time. It started in London, we saw Big Ben, Buckingham Palace (a little too rich for my tastes but hey, to each their own), the Millennium Wheel was really cool, though being that high up gave me vertigo.
After London, we went north, to the land where my family hailed, Scotland! I got to see our family estate and got to show my mate around it. The air was so clear that day and the sky the purest blue. But still, that sunset escaped me. A month after the United Kingdom and we were off to Egypt for a pilgrimage to see the place where my and his faith were practiced in earnest millennia ago. By now my sight had begun to narrow but still, the Great Pyramids were as awe inspiring to me as they must have been to travelers all those era's ago.
Though we couldn't go everywhere we wanted, because of work, because of life, because of all those little moments. We still went on one last trip. My mate surprised me over dinner one evening in October, right around Halloween, he'd gotten two round trip tickets to Tokyo. Both of us being unapologetic fans of anime of all kinds, it was the magnum opus of our escapade around the world. Tokyo, Kyoto and the Great Shrine of Inari, and of course, the Hokkaido Fox Village. I got to pet one of those catdogs up close! Best. Day. EVER! I could just make out those derpy looks on their muzzles as they tried to steal my backpack.
So...did I ever find my sunset? I'm about to. This will probably be the last thing I see. I only have a few days left before it goes completely dark. This will most likely be my last time writing like this. So much for my career as a writer right? ah well. I'd go on a spiel about the best-laid plans and something deep like that as I'm often known to do, but as my best man just pointed out, I'm about to be late for my own wedding!
I don't know if anyone will ever read this diary thing besides me and Eric, but if you happen to stumble upon it take my advice: See the world as if it was the last time you'd be able to. Take in each color, each detail, absorb it and memorize it, you'll be glad you did later.
(So that's my first time ever posting here and the first time EVER publishing anything I've written online. I know, my grammar sucks.) | There was no name for her condition and so she decided herself, to give a name to the affliction that so mercilessly bothered her, so at least this way, she supposed, she could give it an identity. She’d settled on the name Juliana one night when her mind and body would not meet for sleep. It was her mother’s name and she thought it was fitting for her condition, given her and her mother’s estranged relationship. Her mother was a callous woman, who even after her death five short years ago, still appeared in the girl’s dreams to torment her. She often slept with the obnoxious glare of her bedroom lights to keep her dead mother’s assaults at bay.
“Kristen, you’re so fat”. “No man will want to marry a girl like you, if you don’t start taking better care of yourself”. “You surely cannot be my daughter, you look too hideous for this to be true.” The words still stung her, even all of these years later. These words, although just sounds to the ear, carried much weight in Kristen’s own mind and when her mother spoke them to her as an adolescent girl, she often felt weighed down by their power. She had developed a ghastly eating disorder and she found herself only visiting the outside world when she had thoroughly prepared her face with many layers of makeup.
By the time she had reached eighteen, her extreme measures to preserve herself had served her well as she was agreeably beautiful. The fat that she had been born with had fallen off in the correct places, not only so, she finally began to resemble her mother, she had indeed inherited that rich beauty that existed quietly in her genes. She was tall, slim, and she had a face that more so resembled a painting than of an actual human being. Unquestionably, adulthood had agreed with her and one summer when she and her parents had visited the bustling city of New York, she was noticed at a coffee shop by a modeling agent, who mesmerized by the evenness of her face and tightness of her body, selected her especially to represent his agency.
When her mother died three years later, she’d assumed that it was because of jealousy. Kristen had already achieved many great things in her career when Juliana keeled over in the shower one morning, bringing her head to meet the hard, wet floor. She wondered if her mother had slipped purposefully, perhaps to escape the reality that her daughter had surpassed her. Kristen was sad at her mother’s death, but a part of her also felt relieved. She was able to devote more time to her career and she began feeling more and more comfortable with the luxuries her looks afforded her.
At first it was very quite subtle, in fact she had thought it was the result of a cold she had suffered through the week before. But she was gravely mistaken and her eyesight worsened from there on out. It slowly crept in from the corners of her vision until she could no longer even see to apply powder to her face. She corresponded with many doctors, all of whom had never seen such a condition in their careers before. She was helpless but moreover she was afraid. She knew the day would come when she would no longer see at all and so in preparation she began thinking about what her last image of the world might be. In the time since her mother’s death, she had bore a child, married, and bought a lovely home in a vibrant neighborhood. She considered each of these - her child, husband, and her first home - as viable options. When the day had come when the blackness covered all of her sight but just a small circle in the center, she had made her choice.
The last few moments had slipped away faster than a moment had ever gone by in her life before. She savored every color, every texture, every bend of the corner, and change of a line. It wasn’t her child that she had chosen, nor her husband, or even home, but it was her own self. She studied the reflection of her face in her bathroom mirror for the very last time, enchanted by her own beauty. This was the beauty that had almost avoided her, the beauty that was now her’s and no longer her mother’s. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I've been saving this compliment for months now. It's nothing too special. Not a Magnum Opus by any stretch of the imagination, but it'll have the desired effect. My vision is nearing its end. I'm not scared. To some, blindness may be terrifying; however, I had a plan. We've taken measures to assure a long and comfortable life when it does finally go. Besides, I have her.
I'm sitting up in bed, an activity I'd seen much of recently, and contemplating my master plan. A flurry of emotion washes over me. It usually does when my mind becomes occupied with her. I panic momentarily, fearing the worst, but manage to bring myself to peace.
I hear footsteps on the landing below. Soft and muffled from the thick green carpet that covers both the tight, clumsy staircase and the attic which had become our bedroom. A movement draws what's left of my vision to the stairs as she hops up the last step.
Draped in her favourite oversized T-shirt, which dropped nearly down to her knees, she flops down next to me. Her beauty never did lie in elegance. Rather, it was her childlike glee and jumpiness that pulled the corners of my lips into a smile. Her imperfections brought her to life, just as they stole my heart the moment I laid my eyes on her. The same eyes that had little life left in them.
I turn over to her and whisper her name. She returns my gaze. "Yes?" she replies. "I have something very important to tell you." I say "You have a very special talent. Something nobody but you can ever do. You alone can make me smile and laugh and feel butterflies in my stomach when moments before I'd been sobbing like a lost child."
I examine her face, awaiting her response. She smiles, slowly at first, then a full grin. Her cheeks rise and she begins to squint, ever so slightly, showing her laugh lines in the corner of her eyes. She shies away from compliments, so her chin tilts downwards. Some loose strands of hair tumble forward and cast small shadows over her face. She's trying to hide, but doesn't break eye contact with me. Her big, brown doe eyes are easy to get lost in.
This adorable smile is one I've come to love. It encapsulates all of her beauty and proves her humbleness. Not knowing just how beautiful she is makes her even more beautiful in a sense. I close my eyes and lean in for a kiss. Our lips touch gently. Then, calmly and carefully, I rest my head in the crook of her neck. We lay together in tranquility, listening to the rise and fall of our chests and the beating of our hearts.
Sleep comes for me. As I feel myself losing consciousness, I recall the image of her shy smile and feel my own lips curl into a grin. My breathing slows and the light fades - forevermore. | There was no name for her condition and so she decided herself, to give a name to the affliction that so mercilessly bothered her, so at least this way, she supposed, she could give it an identity. She’d settled on the name Juliana one night when her mind and body would not meet for sleep. It was her mother’s name and she thought it was fitting for her condition, given her and her mother’s estranged relationship. Her mother was a callous woman, who even after her death five short years ago, still appeared in the girl’s dreams to torment her. She often slept with the obnoxious glare of her bedroom lights to keep her dead mother’s assaults at bay.
“Kristen, you’re so fat”. “No man will want to marry a girl like you, if you don’t start taking better care of yourself”. “You surely cannot be my daughter, you look too hideous for this to be true.” The words still stung her, even all of these years later. These words, although just sounds to the ear, carried much weight in Kristen’s own mind and when her mother spoke them to her as an adolescent girl, she often felt weighed down by their power. She had developed a ghastly eating disorder and she found herself only visiting the outside world when she had thoroughly prepared her face with many layers of makeup.
By the time she had reached eighteen, her extreme measures to preserve herself had served her well as she was agreeably beautiful. The fat that she had been born with had fallen off in the correct places, not only so, she finally began to resemble her mother, she had indeed inherited that rich beauty that existed quietly in her genes. She was tall, slim, and she had a face that more so resembled a painting than of an actual human being. Unquestionably, adulthood had agreed with her and one summer when she and her parents had visited the bustling city of New York, she was noticed at a coffee shop by a modeling agent, who mesmerized by the evenness of her face and tightness of her body, selected her especially to represent his agency.
When her mother died three years later, she’d assumed that it was because of jealousy. Kristen had already achieved many great things in her career when Juliana keeled over in the shower one morning, bringing her head to meet the hard, wet floor. She wondered if her mother had slipped purposefully, perhaps to escape the reality that her daughter had surpassed her. Kristen was sad at her mother’s death, but a part of her also felt relieved. She was able to devote more time to her career and she began feeling more and more comfortable with the luxuries her looks afforded her.
At first it was very quite subtle, in fact she had thought it was the result of a cold she had suffered through the week before. But she was gravely mistaken and her eyesight worsened from there on out. It slowly crept in from the corners of her vision until she could no longer even see to apply powder to her face. She corresponded with many doctors, all of whom had never seen such a condition in their careers before. She was helpless but moreover she was afraid. She knew the day would come when she would no longer see at all and so in preparation she began thinking about what her last image of the world might be. In the time since her mother’s death, she had bore a child, married, and bought a lovely home in a vibrant neighborhood. She considered each of these - her child, husband, and her first home - as viable options. When the day had come when the blackness covered all of her sight but just a small circle in the center, she had made her choice.
The last few moments had slipped away faster than a moment had ever gone by in her life before. She savored every color, every texture, every bend of the corner, and change of a line. It wasn’t her child that she had chosen, nor her husband, or even home, but it was her own self. She studied the reflection of her face in her bathroom mirror for the very last time, enchanted by her own beauty. This was the beauty that had almost avoided her, the beauty that was now her’s and no longer her mother’s. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | and as my vision starts to fade
i search tirelessly for the view
the one that i'll see for the rest of my days
the one that will still drive me through;
will it be a sunrise bright
set alight by stark contrast and hue
or maybe the forest on a summer morning
grass glittering with chilling dew;
i can fret as i may and believe what i like
for i never had thought that i knew
but from the second they told me i knew it quite well
i want to see always an image of you.
| There was no name for her condition and so she decided herself, to give a name to the affliction that so mercilessly bothered her, so at least this way, she supposed, she could give it an identity. She’d settled on the name Juliana one night when her mind and body would not meet for sleep. It was her mother’s name and she thought it was fitting for her condition, given her and her mother’s estranged relationship. Her mother was a callous woman, who even after her death five short years ago, still appeared in the girl’s dreams to torment her. She often slept with the obnoxious glare of her bedroom lights to keep her dead mother’s assaults at bay.
“Kristen, you’re so fat”. “No man will want to marry a girl like you, if you don’t start taking better care of yourself”. “You surely cannot be my daughter, you look too hideous for this to be true.” The words still stung her, even all of these years later. These words, although just sounds to the ear, carried much weight in Kristen’s own mind and when her mother spoke them to her as an adolescent girl, she often felt weighed down by their power. She had developed a ghastly eating disorder and she found herself only visiting the outside world when she had thoroughly prepared her face with many layers of makeup.
By the time she had reached eighteen, her extreme measures to preserve herself had served her well as she was agreeably beautiful. The fat that she had been born with had fallen off in the correct places, not only so, she finally began to resemble her mother, she had indeed inherited that rich beauty that existed quietly in her genes. She was tall, slim, and she had a face that more so resembled a painting than of an actual human being. Unquestionably, adulthood had agreed with her and one summer when she and her parents had visited the bustling city of New York, she was noticed at a coffee shop by a modeling agent, who mesmerized by the evenness of her face and tightness of her body, selected her especially to represent his agency.
When her mother died three years later, she’d assumed that it was because of jealousy. Kristen had already achieved many great things in her career when Juliana keeled over in the shower one morning, bringing her head to meet the hard, wet floor. She wondered if her mother had slipped purposefully, perhaps to escape the reality that her daughter had surpassed her. Kristen was sad at her mother’s death, but a part of her also felt relieved. She was able to devote more time to her career and she began feeling more and more comfortable with the luxuries her looks afforded her.
At first it was very quite subtle, in fact she had thought it was the result of a cold she had suffered through the week before. But she was gravely mistaken and her eyesight worsened from there on out. It slowly crept in from the corners of her vision until she could no longer even see to apply powder to her face. She corresponded with many doctors, all of whom had never seen such a condition in their careers before. She was helpless but moreover she was afraid. She knew the day would come when she would no longer see at all and so in preparation she began thinking about what her last image of the world might be. In the time since her mother’s death, she had bore a child, married, and bought a lovely home in a vibrant neighborhood. She considered each of these - her child, husband, and her first home - as viable options. When the day had come when the blackness covered all of her sight but just a small circle in the center, she had made her choice.
The last few moments had slipped away faster than a moment had ever gone by in her life before. She savored every color, every texture, every bend of the corner, and change of a line. It wasn’t her child that she had chosen, nor her husband, or even home, but it was her own self. She studied the reflection of her face in her bathroom mirror for the very last time, enchanted by her own beauty. This was the beauty that had almost avoided her, the beauty that was now her’s and no longer her mother’s. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | She took a step forward, her legs aching with years of experience. Her body was not what it once was, but she had used it well. The bruises, the scars, and even the wrinkles all had a story to tell. How she loved to tell them. Children listened intently, eyes open in awe to the sacrifices of the olden days. Those eyes, so much less scarred than hers.
Her eyes held a mysterious depth that absorbed attention with unsatiable hunger. No one could look at those eyes and come out unscathed. Not even her. The stories these told... And not a single word spoken. She saw empires rise and fall all over again everytime she stood in front of a mirror. She saw images of the Sunedeith War and the Seventh Revolution. She saw the dying embers of what once was her city. She still kept one small black stone from her home, stolen from the garden path of her grandmothers' house. A memento of times past and a reminder of continued survival. Her grandmother had survived the Red Eclipse. Her house was one of the few structures that survived the second fall of Bravor. Not that it mattered. Her grandmother had long ago left this realm. As for her, she never returned to that house. It was old and a painful reminder of war. Much like herself, it had seen too much.
People respected her in a way they would respect a God. They would see in her hope, strength, and guidance. They did not see humanity. She was their victories and failures. She was her ship and her soldiers. Even to the weapons they carried. She was reminder of war. The feared her. Not that she cared about any of it. She had fulfilled her role and now she wanted nothing more than to live as simply Selena.
And to the many children sitting in front of her, she was Selena, the storyteller. Children where the only ones who saw her as just another human. An old lady with bags of treats and stories. Stories their parents would never dare tell them. But oh did they need to know. Knowledge as such was hard to come by. Generations to come would find themselved lacking. And this was dangerous, she knew as much. These stories could not die with her.
She also knew, she had little time. The shakes had started. Her vision blurred day by day. Her field of vision growing small and pitiful. She had seen so much already, feeling she had seen too much of the world for it to matter. But she was wrong.
There was one more thing.
Her mother, as strong of a woman and fighter as she was, was also an lover. As a lover, she was an artist. It led to much suffering but her mother loved life, as dark as it was. She simply painted in darker colours. She always hid a little bit of brightness that you could only catch if you looked for it in the right light. However, it had all been lost in the Seventh Revolution. At least, that is what she believed, until Caleb gave her a box.
Caleb was an orphan of barely 13 years old. Smart as a whip, tough as the rock in her pocket. Like her mother, he was an artist too. He appreciated life the way younglings do, naive and resilient with a mind full of wonder. So much curiosity hidden in the depth of their mind, waiting to come out at a moments notice. When he was found in Aria 72, he held his one material posession close to his chest. At mere 4 years old he had survived the end of the world as he knew it only clutching a box full of dried paints and broken brushes. A strange posession for a boy so young found in the remnants of a T-2378z. But he kept the box close, insisting on becoming the first artist of the New World. His father, a surgeon, had once told him that a world without art was only a skeleton of civilization.
Caleb took his mission with pride, discovering colours even in the solid grey walls of the New Aria settlement. He painted with a passion and precision his father would proud of. Selena had never once seen his work. Caleb always painted in secret.
With expecting eyes and a whispered thank you, he handed her a simple brown box. Inside, a treasure no one but Caleb had seen. A treasure so precious, it would be first shared between them. She knew she wouldn't be able to appreciate every detail, not that it mattered. She opened the box and her world exploded in colour. Even in the blurrines of her sight she would recognise her home anywhere. Selena clutched the rock in her posession close to her chest and smiled, looking up to Caleb. Such a beautiful boy, he reminded her so much of her father. Caleb had given her the most beautiful gift. He had given Selena her home. So she gave him one of his own. As Caleb held the rock in his hand, she looked at his face and the world around her disappeared. But she was not alone. Caleb held her hand and hugged her. No, she was not alone. She had a new family now.
Sorry for formatting or mistakes. English is not my first language and I used my phone to type. Feedback welcome. Enjoy! | There was no name for her condition and so she decided herself, to give a name to the affliction that so mercilessly bothered her, so at least this way, she supposed, she could give it an identity. She’d settled on the name Juliana one night when her mind and body would not meet for sleep. It was her mother’s name and she thought it was fitting for her condition, given her and her mother’s estranged relationship. Her mother was a callous woman, who even after her death five short years ago, still appeared in the girl’s dreams to torment her. She often slept with the obnoxious glare of her bedroom lights to keep her dead mother’s assaults at bay.
“Kristen, you’re so fat”. “No man will want to marry a girl like you, if you don’t start taking better care of yourself”. “You surely cannot be my daughter, you look too hideous for this to be true.” The words still stung her, even all of these years later. These words, although just sounds to the ear, carried much weight in Kristen’s own mind and when her mother spoke them to her as an adolescent girl, she often felt weighed down by their power. She had developed a ghastly eating disorder and she found herself only visiting the outside world when she had thoroughly prepared her face with many layers of makeup.
By the time she had reached eighteen, her extreme measures to preserve herself had served her well as she was agreeably beautiful. The fat that she had been born with had fallen off in the correct places, not only so, she finally began to resemble her mother, she had indeed inherited that rich beauty that existed quietly in her genes. She was tall, slim, and she had a face that more so resembled a painting than of an actual human being. Unquestionably, adulthood had agreed with her and one summer when she and her parents had visited the bustling city of New York, she was noticed at a coffee shop by a modeling agent, who mesmerized by the evenness of her face and tightness of her body, selected her especially to represent his agency.
When her mother died three years later, she’d assumed that it was because of jealousy. Kristen had already achieved many great things in her career when Juliana keeled over in the shower one morning, bringing her head to meet the hard, wet floor. She wondered if her mother had slipped purposefully, perhaps to escape the reality that her daughter had surpassed her. Kristen was sad at her mother’s death, but a part of her also felt relieved. She was able to devote more time to her career and she began feeling more and more comfortable with the luxuries her looks afforded her.
At first it was very quite subtle, in fact she had thought it was the result of a cold she had suffered through the week before. But she was gravely mistaken and her eyesight worsened from there on out. It slowly crept in from the corners of her vision until she could no longer even see to apply powder to her face. She corresponded with many doctors, all of whom had never seen such a condition in their careers before. She was helpless but moreover she was afraid. She knew the day would come when she would no longer see at all and so in preparation she began thinking about what her last image of the world might be. In the time since her mother’s death, she had bore a child, married, and bought a lovely home in a vibrant neighborhood. She considered each of these - her child, husband, and her first home - as viable options. When the day had come when the blackness covered all of her sight but just a small circle in the center, she had made her choice.
The last few moments had slipped away faster than a moment had ever gone by in her life before. She savored every color, every texture, every bend of the corner, and change of a line. It wasn’t her child that she had chosen, nor her husband, or even home, but it was her own self. She studied the reflection of her face in her bathroom mirror for the very last time, enchanted by her own beauty. This was the beauty that had almost avoided her, the beauty that was now her’s and no longer her mother’s. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | “There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
I always hated that quote. I preferred “There’s always a silver lining.” Since it wasn’t so literal for me.
Being blind kind of sucked.
Right, where was I? Oh yes, hating stuff.
I hated that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ quote. It was because of my condition where my vision slowly shrank, I don’t remember the technical term but most folks call it ‘Tunnel Vision’.
Really hate that.
So I figure I should go out with one last hurrah!
Most folks who are about to be married usually go out to a strip club.
People who are about to die do whatever the hell they want.
I was going to go blind so I figured I’d go find the best looking thing out there and engrave it into my brain that I’d never forget. Problem is, I had no idea what I was looking for.
I hated that feeling of being lost.
But I had money and I had plenty of time so I travelled the world.
Mountains looked nice enough but I was too cold to appreciate them.
Monuments were impressive but they never really lived up to the hype.
Hell I’ve thrown money at dozens of prostitutes just to see a bunch of girls all over me.
My wife really hated that.
Didn’t surprise me that she left.
Honestly it wasn’t even the prostitutes that got her. It was the fact that I spent years away from her looking for the last perfect image.
Well, I’m an idiot. I know that now. I should’ve stayed with her, been there with her. She was that perfect image, the one thing engraved into my head that I’d never forget.
I don’t even care if I’m blind anymore. I’d give up all my senses just to be with her, hell I’d even give up seeing her if I had that chance.
But now it was too late.
I have Tunnel Vision.
And I hate it.
| There was no name for her condition and so she decided herself, to give a name to the affliction that so mercilessly bothered her, so at least this way, she supposed, she could give it an identity. She’d settled on the name Juliana one night when her mind and body would not meet for sleep. It was her mother’s name and she thought it was fitting for her condition, given her and her mother’s estranged relationship. Her mother was a callous woman, who even after her death five short years ago, still appeared in the girl’s dreams to torment her. She often slept with the obnoxious glare of her bedroom lights to keep her dead mother’s assaults at bay.
“Kristen, you’re so fat”. “No man will want to marry a girl like you, if you don’t start taking better care of yourself”. “You surely cannot be my daughter, you look too hideous for this to be true.” The words still stung her, even all of these years later. These words, although just sounds to the ear, carried much weight in Kristen’s own mind and when her mother spoke them to her as an adolescent girl, she often felt weighed down by their power. She had developed a ghastly eating disorder and she found herself only visiting the outside world when she had thoroughly prepared her face with many layers of makeup.
By the time she had reached eighteen, her extreme measures to preserve herself had served her well as she was agreeably beautiful. The fat that she had been born with had fallen off in the correct places, not only so, she finally began to resemble her mother, she had indeed inherited that rich beauty that existed quietly in her genes. She was tall, slim, and she had a face that more so resembled a painting than of an actual human being. Unquestionably, adulthood had agreed with her and one summer when she and her parents had visited the bustling city of New York, she was noticed at a coffee shop by a modeling agent, who mesmerized by the evenness of her face and tightness of her body, selected her especially to represent his agency.
When her mother died three years later, she’d assumed that it was because of jealousy. Kristen had already achieved many great things in her career when Juliana keeled over in the shower one morning, bringing her head to meet the hard, wet floor. She wondered if her mother had slipped purposefully, perhaps to escape the reality that her daughter had surpassed her. Kristen was sad at her mother’s death, but a part of her also felt relieved. She was able to devote more time to her career and she began feeling more and more comfortable with the luxuries her looks afforded her.
At first it was very quite subtle, in fact she had thought it was the result of a cold she had suffered through the week before. But she was gravely mistaken and her eyesight worsened from there on out. It slowly crept in from the corners of her vision until she could no longer even see to apply powder to her face. She corresponded with many doctors, all of whom had never seen such a condition in their careers before. She was helpless but moreover she was afraid. She knew the day would come when she would no longer see at all and so in preparation she began thinking about what her last image of the world might be. In the time since her mother’s death, she had bore a child, married, and bought a lovely home in a vibrant neighborhood. She considered each of these - her child, husband, and her first home - as viable options. When the day had come when the blackness covered all of her sight but just a small circle in the center, she had made her choice.
The last few moments had slipped away faster than a moment had ever gone by in her life before. She savored every color, every texture, every bend of the corner, and change of a line. It wasn’t her child that she had chosen, nor her husband, or even home, but it was her own self. She studied the reflection of her face in her bathroom mirror for the very last time, enchanted by her own beauty. This was the beauty that had almost avoided her, the beauty that was now her’s and no longer her mother’s. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | There was no name for her condition and so she decided herself, to give a name to the affliction that so mercilessly bothered her, so at least this way, she supposed, she could give it an identity. She’d settled on the name Juliana one night when her mind and body would not meet for sleep. It was her mother’s name and she thought it was fitting for her condition, given her and her mother’s estranged relationship. Her mother was a callous woman, who even after her death five short years ago, still appeared in the girl’s dreams to torment her. She often slept with the obnoxious glare of her bedroom lights to keep her dead mother’s assaults at bay.
“Kristen, you’re so fat”. “No man will want to marry a girl like you, if you don’t start taking better care of yourself”. “You surely cannot be my daughter, you look too hideous for this to be true.” The words still stung her, even all of these years later. These words, although just sounds to the ear, carried much weight in Kristen’s own mind and when her mother spoke them to her as an adolescent girl, she often felt weighed down by their power. She had developed a ghastly eating disorder and she found herself only visiting the outside world when she had thoroughly prepared her face with many layers of makeup.
By the time she had reached eighteen, her extreme measures to preserve herself had served her well as she was agreeably beautiful. The fat that she had been born with had fallen off in the correct places, not only so, she finally began to resemble her mother, she had indeed inherited that rich beauty that existed quietly in her genes. She was tall, slim, and she had a face that more so resembled a painting than of an actual human being. Unquestionably, adulthood had agreed with her and one summer when she and her parents had visited the bustling city of New York, she was noticed at a coffee shop by a modeling agent, who mesmerized by the evenness of her face and tightness of her body, selected her especially to represent his agency.
When her mother died three years later, she’d assumed that it was because of jealousy. Kristen had already achieved many great things in her career when Juliana keeled over in the shower one morning, bringing her head to meet the hard, wet floor. She wondered if her mother had slipped purposefully, perhaps to escape the reality that her daughter had surpassed her. Kristen was sad at her mother’s death, but a part of her also felt relieved. She was able to devote more time to her career and she began feeling more and more comfortable with the luxuries her looks afforded her.
At first it was very quite subtle, in fact she had thought it was the result of a cold she had suffered through the week before. But she was gravely mistaken and her eyesight worsened from there on out. It slowly crept in from the corners of her vision until she could no longer even see to apply powder to her face. She corresponded with many doctors, all of whom had never seen such a condition in their careers before. She was helpless but moreover she was afraid. She knew the day would come when she would no longer see at all and so in preparation she began thinking about what her last image of the world might be. In the time since her mother’s death, she had bore a child, married, and bought a lovely home in a vibrant neighborhood. She considered each of these - her child, husband, and her first home - as viable options. When the day had come when the blackness covered all of her sight but just a small circle in the center, she had made her choice.
The last few moments had slipped away faster than a moment had ever gone by in her life before. She savored every color, every texture, every bend of the corner, and change of a line. It wasn’t her child that she had chosen, nor her husband, or even home, but it was her own self. She studied the reflection of her face in her bathroom mirror for the very last time, enchanted by her own beauty. This was the beauty that had almost avoided her, the beauty that was now her’s and no longer her mother’s. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | There was no name for her condition and so she decided herself, to give a name to the affliction that so mercilessly bothered her, so at least this way, she supposed, she could give it an identity. She’d settled on the name Juliana one night when her mind and body would not meet for sleep. It was her mother’s name and she thought it was fitting for her condition, given her and her mother’s estranged relationship. Her mother was a callous woman, who even after her death five short years ago, still appeared in the girl’s dreams to torment her. She often slept with the obnoxious glare of her bedroom lights to keep her dead mother’s assaults at bay.
“Kristen, you’re so fat”. “No man will want to marry a girl like you, if you don’t start taking better care of yourself”. “You surely cannot be my daughter, you look too hideous for this to be true.” The words still stung her, even all of these years later. These words, although just sounds to the ear, carried much weight in Kristen’s own mind and when her mother spoke them to her as an adolescent girl, she often felt weighed down by their power. She had developed a ghastly eating disorder and she found herself only visiting the outside world when she had thoroughly prepared her face with many layers of makeup.
By the time she had reached eighteen, her extreme measures to preserve herself had served her well as she was agreeably beautiful. The fat that she had been born with had fallen off in the correct places, not only so, she finally began to resemble her mother, she had indeed inherited that rich beauty that existed quietly in her genes. She was tall, slim, and she had a face that more so resembled a painting than of an actual human being. Unquestionably, adulthood had agreed with her and one summer when she and her parents had visited the bustling city of New York, she was noticed at a coffee shop by a modeling agent, who mesmerized by the evenness of her face and tightness of her body, selected her especially to represent his agency.
When her mother died three years later, she’d assumed that it was because of jealousy. Kristen had already achieved many great things in her career when Juliana keeled over in the shower one morning, bringing her head to meet the hard, wet floor. She wondered if her mother had slipped purposefully, perhaps to escape the reality that her daughter had surpassed her. Kristen was sad at her mother’s death, but a part of her also felt relieved. She was able to devote more time to her career and she began feeling more and more comfortable with the luxuries her looks afforded her.
At first it was very quite subtle, in fact she had thought it was the result of a cold she had suffered through the week before. But she was gravely mistaken and her eyesight worsened from there on out. It slowly crept in from the corners of her vision until she could no longer even see to apply powder to her face. She corresponded with many doctors, all of whom had never seen such a condition in their careers before. She was helpless but moreover she was afraid. She knew the day would come when she would no longer see at all and so in preparation she began thinking about what her last image of the world might be. In the time since her mother’s death, she had bore a child, married, and bought a lovely home in a vibrant neighborhood. She considered each of these - her child, husband, and her first home - as viable options. When the day had come when the blackness covered all of her sight but just a small circle in the center, she had made her choice.
The last few moments had slipped away faster than a moment had ever gone by in her life before. She savored every color, every texture, every bend of the corner, and change of a line. It wasn’t her child that she had chosen, nor her husband, or even home, but it was her own self. She studied the reflection of her face in her bathroom mirror for the very last time, enchanted by her own beauty. This was the beauty that had almost avoided her, the beauty that was now her’s and no longer her mother’s. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I've been saving this compliment for months now. It's nothing too special. Not a Magnum Opus by any stretch of the imagination, but it'll have the desired effect. My vision is nearing its end. I'm not scared. To some, blindness may be terrifying; however, I had a plan. We've taken measures to assure a long and comfortable life when it does finally go. Besides, I have her.
I'm sitting up in bed, an activity I'd seen much of recently, and contemplating my master plan. A flurry of emotion washes over me. It usually does when my mind becomes occupied with her. I panic momentarily, fearing the worst, but manage to bring myself to peace.
I hear footsteps on the landing below. Soft and muffled from the thick green carpet that covers both the tight, clumsy staircase and the attic which had become our bedroom. A movement draws what's left of my vision to the stairs as she hops up the last step.
Draped in her favourite oversized T-shirt, which dropped nearly down to her knees, she flops down next to me. Her beauty never did lie in elegance. Rather, it was her childlike glee and jumpiness that pulled the corners of my lips into a smile. Her imperfections brought her to life, just as they stole my heart the moment I laid my eyes on her. The same eyes that had little life left in them.
I turn over to her and whisper her name. She returns my gaze. "Yes?" she replies. "I have something very important to tell you." I say "You have a very special talent. Something nobody but you can ever do. You alone can make me smile and laugh and feel butterflies in my stomach when moments before I'd been sobbing like a lost child."
I examine her face, awaiting her response. She smiles, slowly at first, then a full grin. Her cheeks rise and she begins to squint, ever so slightly, showing her laugh lines in the corner of her eyes. She shies away from compliments, so her chin tilts downwards. Some loose strands of hair tumble forward and cast small shadows over her face. She's trying to hide, but doesn't break eye contact with me. Her big, brown doe eyes are easy to get lost in.
This adorable smile is one I've come to love. It encapsulates all of her beauty and proves her humbleness. Not knowing just how beautiful she is makes her even more beautiful in a sense. I close my eyes and lean in for a kiss. Our lips touch gently. Then, calmly and carefully, I rest my head in the crook of her neck. We lay together in tranquility, listening to the rise and fall of our chests and the beating of our hearts.
Sleep comes for me. As I feel myself losing consciousness, I recall the image of her shy smile and feel my own lips curl into a grin. My breathing slows and the light fades - forevermore. |
You took it harder than I did. You told me that you’d find a way to save my eyes. You told me you’d take me across the world, make sure that if my eyesight was to die, it wouldn’t go quietly into the night. The next morning I awoke to a world map, scattered with red pins. I asked how. You said not to worry, and I didn’t. And we traveled.
You took photos and I had my sketchbook. Japan. Italy. China. France. Africa. The Cascades. The Andes. Antarctica. Glasses helped at first but the darkness was never stalled. I saw the birth of animals, the billow of volcanoes, the rise and set of a thousand suns, on a hundred landscapes. I saw the peaks of mountains and an entire lifetime of stars. I saw the deepest tragedies and the kindest acts. I saw lifetimes begin and end. I continued to travel, but only saw the world through your photographs, through your eyes. Ruins of civilizations long past, and wonders of those yet standing. You led me through the densest jungles, the tallest forests I met royals and writers, with leaders and luminaries and peasants and people. I saw ideals of humanity stand strong, and the worst of humanity take root, as the darkness in my eyes settled in so that color and shapes were all I could see. I saw the greenest of greens, the bluest of blues, the reddest of reds, then, the brightest of brights, and finally, after nearly 45 years of travel, the darkest of darks.
You wept, the day I told you. I asked you to describe the photos you had taken, every shade, every shape, every moment. We laughed as we remembered times past, harrowing adventures and friends long gone. You asked if you could do the same with my sketchbook, and I said okay.
With some trepidation and surprise you described yourself. The curve of your cheek, the shine of your eyes, the glow of your hair in the sun and the beauty of your skin in the moonlight. The gracefulness which you approach every moment of your day, the brilliance of your smile, the way your eyebrows twist just so when you laugh and the way your cheeks swell when you cry. The way your bite your lip when in thought, and pursue them when annoyed, the way-
You stop, unable to hold back your tears now. You’re mad, mad I spent our years watching you instead of the world, mad you’ll never be able to share a sunrise the same way mad I’ll never be able to draw another picture. I stop you there. I grab my sketchbook and pencil from where I know they’ll be, and sketch a perfect picture of you. My hands know you by heart now, the shape of your eyes, the curls of your hair, every freckle, the lines of your lips and eyes. For you were the most beautiful thing I ever saw and your image is burned into my being.
I tell you not to worry, and you say okay.
|
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | and as my vision starts to fade
i search tirelessly for the view
the one that i'll see for the rest of my days
the one that will still drive me through;
will it be a sunrise bright
set alight by stark contrast and hue
or maybe the forest on a summer morning
grass glittering with chilling dew;
i can fret as i may and believe what i like
for i never had thought that i knew
but from the second they told me i knew it quite well
i want to see always an image of you.
|
You took it harder than I did. You told me that you’d find a way to save my eyes. You told me you’d take me across the world, make sure that if my eyesight was to die, it wouldn’t go quietly into the night. The next morning I awoke to a world map, scattered with red pins. I asked how. You said not to worry, and I didn’t. And we traveled.
You took photos and I had my sketchbook. Japan. Italy. China. France. Africa. The Cascades. The Andes. Antarctica. Glasses helped at first but the darkness was never stalled. I saw the birth of animals, the billow of volcanoes, the rise and set of a thousand suns, on a hundred landscapes. I saw the peaks of mountains and an entire lifetime of stars. I saw the deepest tragedies and the kindest acts. I saw lifetimes begin and end. I continued to travel, but only saw the world through your photographs, through your eyes. Ruins of civilizations long past, and wonders of those yet standing. You led me through the densest jungles, the tallest forests I met royals and writers, with leaders and luminaries and peasants and people. I saw ideals of humanity stand strong, and the worst of humanity take root, as the darkness in my eyes settled in so that color and shapes were all I could see. I saw the greenest of greens, the bluest of blues, the reddest of reds, then, the brightest of brights, and finally, after nearly 45 years of travel, the darkest of darks.
You wept, the day I told you. I asked you to describe the photos you had taken, every shade, every shape, every moment. We laughed as we remembered times past, harrowing adventures and friends long gone. You asked if you could do the same with my sketchbook, and I said okay.
With some trepidation and surprise you described yourself. The curve of your cheek, the shine of your eyes, the glow of your hair in the sun and the beauty of your skin in the moonlight. The gracefulness which you approach every moment of your day, the brilliance of your smile, the way your eyebrows twist just so when you laugh and the way your cheeks swell when you cry. The way your bite your lip when in thought, and pursue them when annoyed, the way-
You stop, unable to hold back your tears now. You’re mad, mad I spent our years watching you instead of the world, mad you’ll never be able to share a sunrise the same way mad I’ll never be able to draw another picture. I stop you there. I grab my sketchbook and pencil from where I know they’ll be, and sketch a perfect picture of you. My hands know you by heart now, the shape of your eyes, the curls of your hair, every freckle, the lines of your lips and eyes. For you were the most beautiful thing I ever saw and your image is burned into my being.
I tell you not to worry, and you say okay.
|
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | She took a step forward, her legs aching with years of experience. Her body was not what it once was, but she had used it well. The bruises, the scars, and even the wrinkles all had a story to tell. How she loved to tell them. Children listened intently, eyes open in awe to the sacrifices of the olden days. Those eyes, so much less scarred than hers.
Her eyes held a mysterious depth that absorbed attention with unsatiable hunger. No one could look at those eyes and come out unscathed. Not even her. The stories these told... And not a single word spoken. She saw empires rise and fall all over again everytime she stood in front of a mirror. She saw images of the Sunedeith War and the Seventh Revolution. She saw the dying embers of what once was her city. She still kept one small black stone from her home, stolen from the garden path of her grandmothers' house. A memento of times past and a reminder of continued survival. Her grandmother had survived the Red Eclipse. Her house was one of the few structures that survived the second fall of Bravor. Not that it mattered. Her grandmother had long ago left this realm. As for her, she never returned to that house. It was old and a painful reminder of war. Much like herself, it had seen too much.
People respected her in a way they would respect a God. They would see in her hope, strength, and guidance. They did not see humanity. She was their victories and failures. She was her ship and her soldiers. Even to the weapons they carried. She was reminder of war. The feared her. Not that she cared about any of it. She had fulfilled her role and now she wanted nothing more than to live as simply Selena.
And to the many children sitting in front of her, she was Selena, the storyteller. Children where the only ones who saw her as just another human. An old lady with bags of treats and stories. Stories their parents would never dare tell them. But oh did they need to know. Knowledge as such was hard to come by. Generations to come would find themselved lacking. And this was dangerous, she knew as much. These stories could not die with her.
She also knew, she had little time. The shakes had started. Her vision blurred day by day. Her field of vision growing small and pitiful. She had seen so much already, feeling she had seen too much of the world for it to matter. But she was wrong.
There was one more thing.
Her mother, as strong of a woman and fighter as she was, was also an lover. As a lover, she was an artist. It led to much suffering but her mother loved life, as dark as it was. She simply painted in darker colours. She always hid a little bit of brightness that you could only catch if you looked for it in the right light. However, it had all been lost in the Seventh Revolution. At least, that is what she believed, until Caleb gave her a box.
Caleb was an orphan of barely 13 years old. Smart as a whip, tough as the rock in her pocket. Like her mother, he was an artist too. He appreciated life the way younglings do, naive and resilient with a mind full of wonder. So much curiosity hidden in the depth of their mind, waiting to come out at a moments notice. When he was found in Aria 72, he held his one material posession close to his chest. At mere 4 years old he had survived the end of the world as he knew it only clutching a box full of dried paints and broken brushes. A strange posession for a boy so young found in the remnants of a T-2378z. But he kept the box close, insisting on becoming the first artist of the New World. His father, a surgeon, had once told him that a world without art was only a skeleton of civilization.
Caleb took his mission with pride, discovering colours even in the solid grey walls of the New Aria settlement. He painted with a passion and precision his father would proud of. Selena had never once seen his work. Caleb always painted in secret.
With expecting eyes and a whispered thank you, he handed her a simple brown box. Inside, a treasure no one but Caleb had seen. A treasure so precious, it would be first shared between them. She knew she wouldn't be able to appreciate every detail, not that it mattered. She opened the box and her world exploded in colour. Even in the blurrines of her sight she would recognise her home anywhere. Selena clutched the rock in her posession close to her chest and smiled, looking up to Caleb. Such a beautiful boy, he reminded her so much of her father. Caleb had given her the most beautiful gift. He had given Selena her home. So she gave him one of his own. As Caleb held the rock in his hand, she looked at his face and the world around her disappeared. But she was not alone. Caleb held her hand and hugged her. No, she was not alone. She had a new family now.
Sorry for formatting or mistakes. English is not my first language and I used my phone to type. Feedback welcome. Enjoy! |
You took it harder than I did. You told me that you’d find a way to save my eyes. You told me you’d take me across the world, make sure that if my eyesight was to die, it wouldn’t go quietly into the night. The next morning I awoke to a world map, scattered with red pins. I asked how. You said not to worry, and I didn’t. And we traveled.
You took photos and I had my sketchbook. Japan. Italy. China. France. Africa. The Cascades. The Andes. Antarctica. Glasses helped at first but the darkness was never stalled. I saw the birth of animals, the billow of volcanoes, the rise and set of a thousand suns, on a hundred landscapes. I saw the peaks of mountains and an entire lifetime of stars. I saw the deepest tragedies and the kindest acts. I saw lifetimes begin and end. I continued to travel, but only saw the world through your photographs, through your eyes. Ruins of civilizations long past, and wonders of those yet standing. You led me through the densest jungles, the tallest forests I met royals and writers, with leaders and luminaries and peasants and people. I saw ideals of humanity stand strong, and the worst of humanity take root, as the darkness in my eyes settled in so that color and shapes were all I could see. I saw the greenest of greens, the bluest of blues, the reddest of reds, then, the brightest of brights, and finally, after nearly 45 years of travel, the darkest of darks.
You wept, the day I told you. I asked you to describe the photos you had taken, every shade, every shape, every moment. We laughed as we remembered times past, harrowing adventures and friends long gone. You asked if you could do the same with my sketchbook, and I said okay.
With some trepidation and surprise you described yourself. The curve of your cheek, the shine of your eyes, the glow of your hair in the sun and the beauty of your skin in the moonlight. The gracefulness which you approach every moment of your day, the brilliance of your smile, the way your eyebrows twist just so when you laugh and the way your cheeks swell when you cry. The way your bite your lip when in thought, and pursue them when annoyed, the way-
You stop, unable to hold back your tears now. You’re mad, mad I spent our years watching you instead of the world, mad you’ll never be able to share a sunrise the same way mad I’ll never be able to draw another picture. I stop you there. I grab my sketchbook and pencil from where I know they’ll be, and sketch a perfect picture of you. My hands know you by heart now, the shape of your eyes, the curls of your hair, every freckle, the lines of your lips and eyes. For you were the most beautiful thing I ever saw and your image is burned into my being.
I tell you not to worry, and you say okay.
|
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | “There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
I always hated that quote. I preferred “There’s always a silver lining.” Since it wasn’t so literal for me.
Being blind kind of sucked.
Right, where was I? Oh yes, hating stuff.
I hated that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ quote. It was because of my condition where my vision slowly shrank, I don’t remember the technical term but most folks call it ‘Tunnel Vision’.
Really hate that.
So I figure I should go out with one last hurrah!
Most folks who are about to be married usually go out to a strip club.
People who are about to die do whatever the hell they want.
I was going to go blind so I figured I’d go find the best looking thing out there and engrave it into my brain that I’d never forget. Problem is, I had no idea what I was looking for.
I hated that feeling of being lost.
But I had money and I had plenty of time so I travelled the world.
Mountains looked nice enough but I was too cold to appreciate them.
Monuments were impressive but they never really lived up to the hype.
Hell I’ve thrown money at dozens of prostitutes just to see a bunch of girls all over me.
My wife really hated that.
Didn’t surprise me that she left.
Honestly it wasn’t even the prostitutes that got her. It was the fact that I spent years away from her looking for the last perfect image.
Well, I’m an idiot. I know that now. I should’ve stayed with her, been there with her. She was that perfect image, the one thing engraved into my head that I’d never forget.
I don’t even care if I’m blind anymore. I’d give up all my senses just to be with her, hell I’d even give up seeing her if I had that chance.
But now it was too late.
I have Tunnel Vision.
And I hate it.
|
You took it harder than I did. You told me that you’d find a way to save my eyes. You told me you’d take me across the world, make sure that if my eyesight was to die, it wouldn’t go quietly into the night. The next morning I awoke to a world map, scattered with red pins. I asked how. You said not to worry, and I didn’t. And we traveled.
You took photos and I had my sketchbook. Japan. Italy. China. France. Africa. The Cascades. The Andes. Antarctica. Glasses helped at first but the darkness was never stalled. I saw the birth of animals, the billow of volcanoes, the rise and set of a thousand suns, on a hundred landscapes. I saw the peaks of mountains and an entire lifetime of stars. I saw the deepest tragedies and the kindest acts. I saw lifetimes begin and end. I continued to travel, but only saw the world through your photographs, through your eyes. Ruins of civilizations long past, and wonders of those yet standing. You led me through the densest jungles, the tallest forests I met royals and writers, with leaders and luminaries and peasants and people. I saw ideals of humanity stand strong, and the worst of humanity take root, as the darkness in my eyes settled in so that color and shapes were all I could see. I saw the greenest of greens, the bluest of blues, the reddest of reds, then, the brightest of brights, and finally, after nearly 45 years of travel, the darkest of darks.
You wept, the day I told you. I asked you to describe the photos you had taken, every shade, every shape, every moment. We laughed as we remembered times past, harrowing adventures and friends long gone. You asked if you could do the same with my sketchbook, and I said okay.
With some trepidation and surprise you described yourself. The curve of your cheek, the shine of your eyes, the glow of your hair in the sun and the beauty of your skin in the moonlight. The gracefulness which you approach every moment of your day, the brilliance of your smile, the way your eyebrows twist just so when you laugh and the way your cheeks swell when you cry. The way your bite your lip when in thought, and pursue them when annoyed, the way-
You stop, unable to hold back your tears now. You’re mad, mad I spent our years watching you instead of the world, mad you’ll never be able to share a sunrise the same way mad I’ll never be able to draw another picture. I stop you there. I grab my sketchbook and pencil from where I know they’ll be, and sketch a perfect picture of you. My hands know you by heart now, the shape of your eyes, the curls of your hair, every freckle, the lines of your lips and eyes. For you were the most beautiful thing I ever saw and your image is burned into my being.
I tell you not to worry, and you say okay.
|
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. |
You took it harder than I did. You told me that you’d find a way to save my eyes. You told me you’d take me across the world, make sure that if my eyesight was to die, it wouldn’t go quietly into the night. The next morning I awoke to a world map, scattered with red pins. I asked how. You said not to worry, and I didn’t. And we traveled.
You took photos and I had my sketchbook. Japan. Italy. China. France. Africa. The Cascades. The Andes. Antarctica. Glasses helped at first but the darkness was never stalled. I saw the birth of animals, the billow of volcanoes, the rise and set of a thousand suns, on a hundred landscapes. I saw the peaks of mountains and an entire lifetime of stars. I saw the deepest tragedies and the kindest acts. I saw lifetimes begin and end. I continued to travel, but only saw the world through your photographs, through your eyes. Ruins of civilizations long past, and wonders of those yet standing. You led me through the densest jungles, the tallest forests I met royals and writers, with leaders and luminaries and peasants and people. I saw ideals of humanity stand strong, and the worst of humanity take root, as the darkness in my eyes settled in so that color and shapes were all I could see. I saw the greenest of greens, the bluest of blues, the reddest of reds, then, the brightest of brights, and finally, after nearly 45 years of travel, the darkest of darks.
You wept, the day I told you. I asked you to describe the photos you had taken, every shade, every shape, every moment. We laughed as we remembered times past, harrowing adventures and friends long gone. You asked if you could do the same with my sketchbook, and I said okay.
With some trepidation and surprise you described yourself. The curve of your cheek, the shine of your eyes, the glow of your hair in the sun and the beauty of your skin in the moonlight. The gracefulness which you approach every moment of your day, the brilliance of your smile, the way your eyebrows twist just so when you laugh and the way your cheeks swell when you cry. The way your bite your lip when in thought, and pursue them when annoyed, the way-
You stop, unable to hold back your tears now. You’re mad, mad I spent our years watching you instead of the world, mad you’ll never be able to share a sunrise the same way mad I’ll never be able to draw another picture. I stop you there. I grab my sketchbook and pencil from where I know they’ll be, and sketch a perfect picture of you. My hands know you by heart now, the shape of your eyes, the curls of your hair, every freckle, the lines of your lips and eyes. For you were the most beautiful thing I ever saw and your image is burned into my being.
I tell you not to worry, and you say okay.
|
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | and as my vision starts to fade
i search tirelessly for the view
the one that i'll see for the rest of my days
the one that will still drive me through;
will it be a sunrise bright
set alight by stark contrast and hue
or maybe the forest on a summer morning
grass glittering with chilling dew;
i can fret as i may and believe what i like
for i never had thought that i knew
but from the second they told me i knew it quite well
i want to see always an image of you.
| Today it’s down to a pinhole. Smaller than yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. I’m in Grenada. My final visual destination. I can hear the surf outside and smell the flowers with an intensity that feels new. The sand crunches as I stagger forward, my hand on my wife’s shoulder to steady my step.
I’m loosing my sight. And I’m a photographer. A cruel fate if there every was one. I’m losing the only way I know how to make a living.
It has been a quick journey. I noticed my field of vision getting smaller and smaller last year. Every day I opened my eyes, it felt as though the walls of the world were closing in on me, and I didn’t know how I could splay my body far enough to keep them apart. A visit to my doctor confirmed the worst; I would be blind within the year.
Instead of hanging out at home and feeling sorry for myself, my wife inspired me to go on a Grand Tour of the world and see as much of it as I can before I can see no more. In essence, I created a vision catalogue.
We traveled to 20 countries. 100 cities. We catalogued every angle of everything I wanted to see. Every location has a number. New York Times Square is NY50. Downtown is 25. Williamsburg is 15. My Mom’s living room is H10, my old bedroom is H1, and the kitchen is H3. Every picture I took, I studied the labeled photo, desperately trying to help me etch each location into my memory.
My wife now refers to locations by number so I have a sense of the angle I need to look at in order for me to remember exactly what it was like before it disappears. And disappear it will, today.
Glenda leads me towards the sunset. I’m unsteady because it’s almost dark in more ways than one. I can just make it out on the horizon. Then a flash of orange passes in front of me, almost blinding me. Ironic. The sea shimmers copper. My final destination, F10. It was worth it to come here, the place of my birth. The sun sets. Darkness. A new life has begun. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | She took a step forward, her legs aching with years of experience. Her body was not what it once was, but she had used it well. The bruises, the scars, and even the wrinkles all had a story to tell. How she loved to tell them. Children listened intently, eyes open in awe to the sacrifices of the olden days. Those eyes, so much less scarred than hers.
Her eyes held a mysterious depth that absorbed attention with unsatiable hunger. No one could look at those eyes and come out unscathed. Not even her. The stories these told... And not a single word spoken. She saw empires rise and fall all over again everytime she stood in front of a mirror. She saw images of the Sunedeith War and the Seventh Revolution. She saw the dying embers of what once was her city. She still kept one small black stone from her home, stolen from the garden path of her grandmothers' house. A memento of times past and a reminder of continued survival. Her grandmother had survived the Red Eclipse. Her house was one of the few structures that survived the second fall of Bravor. Not that it mattered. Her grandmother had long ago left this realm. As for her, she never returned to that house. It was old and a painful reminder of war. Much like herself, it had seen too much.
People respected her in a way they would respect a God. They would see in her hope, strength, and guidance. They did not see humanity. She was their victories and failures. She was her ship and her soldiers. Even to the weapons they carried. She was reminder of war. The feared her. Not that she cared about any of it. She had fulfilled her role and now she wanted nothing more than to live as simply Selena.
And to the many children sitting in front of her, she was Selena, the storyteller. Children where the only ones who saw her as just another human. An old lady with bags of treats and stories. Stories their parents would never dare tell them. But oh did they need to know. Knowledge as such was hard to come by. Generations to come would find themselved lacking. And this was dangerous, she knew as much. These stories could not die with her.
She also knew, she had little time. The shakes had started. Her vision blurred day by day. Her field of vision growing small and pitiful. She had seen so much already, feeling she had seen too much of the world for it to matter. But she was wrong.
There was one more thing.
Her mother, as strong of a woman and fighter as she was, was also an lover. As a lover, she was an artist. It led to much suffering but her mother loved life, as dark as it was. She simply painted in darker colours. She always hid a little bit of brightness that you could only catch if you looked for it in the right light. However, it had all been lost in the Seventh Revolution. At least, that is what she believed, until Caleb gave her a box.
Caleb was an orphan of barely 13 years old. Smart as a whip, tough as the rock in her pocket. Like her mother, he was an artist too. He appreciated life the way younglings do, naive and resilient with a mind full of wonder. So much curiosity hidden in the depth of their mind, waiting to come out at a moments notice. When he was found in Aria 72, he held his one material posession close to his chest. At mere 4 years old he had survived the end of the world as he knew it only clutching a box full of dried paints and broken brushes. A strange posession for a boy so young found in the remnants of a T-2378z. But he kept the box close, insisting on becoming the first artist of the New World. His father, a surgeon, had once told him that a world without art was only a skeleton of civilization.
Caleb took his mission with pride, discovering colours even in the solid grey walls of the New Aria settlement. He painted with a passion and precision his father would proud of. Selena had never once seen his work. Caleb always painted in secret.
With expecting eyes and a whispered thank you, he handed her a simple brown box. Inside, a treasure no one but Caleb had seen. A treasure so precious, it would be first shared between them. She knew she wouldn't be able to appreciate every detail, not that it mattered. She opened the box and her world exploded in colour. Even in the blurrines of her sight she would recognise her home anywhere. Selena clutched the rock in her posession close to her chest and smiled, looking up to Caleb. Such a beautiful boy, he reminded her so much of her father. Caleb had given her the most beautiful gift. He had given Selena her home. So she gave him one of his own. As Caleb held the rock in his hand, she looked at his face and the world around her disappeared. But she was not alone. Caleb held her hand and hugged her. No, she was not alone. She had a new family now.
Sorry for formatting or mistakes. English is not my first language and I used my phone to type. Feedback welcome. Enjoy! | Today it’s down to a pinhole. Smaller than yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. I’m in Grenada. My final visual destination. I can hear the surf outside and smell the flowers with an intensity that feels new. The sand crunches as I stagger forward, my hand on my wife’s shoulder to steady my step.
I’m loosing my sight. And I’m a photographer. A cruel fate if there every was one. I’m losing the only way I know how to make a living.
It has been a quick journey. I noticed my field of vision getting smaller and smaller last year. Every day I opened my eyes, it felt as though the walls of the world were closing in on me, and I didn’t know how I could splay my body far enough to keep them apart. A visit to my doctor confirmed the worst; I would be blind within the year.
Instead of hanging out at home and feeling sorry for myself, my wife inspired me to go on a Grand Tour of the world and see as much of it as I can before I can see no more. In essence, I created a vision catalogue.
We traveled to 20 countries. 100 cities. We catalogued every angle of everything I wanted to see. Every location has a number. New York Times Square is NY50. Downtown is 25. Williamsburg is 15. My Mom’s living room is H10, my old bedroom is H1, and the kitchen is H3. Every picture I took, I studied the labeled photo, desperately trying to help me etch each location into my memory.
My wife now refers to locations by number so I have a sense of the angle I need to look at in order for me to remember exactly what it was like before it disappears. And disappear it will, today.
Glenda leads me towards the sunset. I’m unsteady because it’s almost dark in more ways than one. I can just make it out on the horizon. Then a flash of orange passes in front of me, almost blinding me. Ironic. The sea shimmers copper. My final destination, F10. It was worth it to come here, the place of my birth. The sun sets. Darkness. A new life has begun. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | “There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
I always hated that quote. I preferred “There’s always a silver lining.” Since it wasn’t so literal for me.
Being blind kind of sucked.
Right, where was I? Oh yes, hating stuff.
I hated that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ quote. It was because of my condition where my vision slowly shrank, I don’t remember the technical term but most folks call it ‘Tunnel Vision’.
Really hate that.
So I figure I should go out with one last hurrah!
Most folks who are about to be married usually go out to a strip club.
People who are about to die do whatever the hell they want.
I was going to go blind so I figured I’d go find the best looking thing out there and engrave it into my brain that I’d never forget. Problem is, I had no idea what I was looking for.
I hated that feeling of being lost.
But I had money and I had plenty of time so I travelled the world.
Mountains looked nice enough but I was too cold to appreciate them.
Monuments were impressive but they never really lived up to the hype.
Hell I’ve thrown money at dozens of prostitutes just to see a bunch of girls all over me.
My wife really hated that.
Didn’t surprise me that she left.
Honestly it wasn’t even the prostitutes that got her. It was the fact that I spent years away from her looking for the last perfect image.
Well, I’m an idiot. I know that now. I should’ve stayed with her, been there with her. She was that perfect image, the one thing engraved into my head that I’d never forget.
I don’t even care if I’m blind anymore. I’d give up all my senses just to be with her, hell I’d even give up seeing her if I had that chance.
But now it was too late.
I have Tunnel Vision.
And I hate it.
| Today it’s down to a pinhole. Smaller than yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. I’m in Grenada. My final visual destination. I can hear the surf outside and smell the flowers with an intensity that feels new. The sand crunches as I stagger forward, my hand on my wife’s shoulder to steady my step.
I’m loosing my sight. And I’m a photographer. A cruel fate if there every was one. I’m losing the only way I know how to make a living.
It has been a quick journey. I noticed my field of vision getting smaller and smaller last year. Every day I opened my eyes, it felt as though the walls of the world were closing in on me, and I didn’t know how I could splay my body far enough to keep them apart. A visit to my doctor confirmed the worst; I would be blind within the year.
Instead of hanging out at home and feeling sorry for myself, my wife inspired me to go on a Grand Tour of the world and see as much of it as I can before I can see no more. In essence, I created a vision catalogue.
We traveled to 20 countries. 100 cities. We catalogued every angle of everything I wanted to see. Every location has a number. New York Times Square is NY50. Downtown is 25. Williamsburg is 15. My Mom’s living room is H10, my old bedroom is H1, and the kitchen is H3. Every picture I took, I studied the labeled photo, desperately trying to help me etch each location into my memory.
My wife now refers to locations by number so I have a sense of the angle I need to look at in order for me to remember exactly what it was like before it disappears. And disappear it will, today.
Glenda leads me towards the sunset. I’m unsteady because it’s almost dark in more ways than one. I can just make it out on the horizon. Then a flash of orange passes in front of me, almost blinding me. Ironic. The sea shimmers copper. My final destination, F10. It was worth it to come here, the place of my birth. The sun sets. Darkness. A new life has begun. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | Today it’s down to a pinhole. Smaller than yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. I’m in Grenada. My final visual destination. I can hear the surf outside and smell the flowers with an intensity that feels new. The sand crunches as I stagger forward, my hand on my wife’s shoulder to steady my step.
I’m loosing my sight. And I’m a photographer. A cruel fate if there every was one. I’m losing the only way I know how to make a living.
It has been a quick journey. I noticed my field of vision getting smaller and smaller last year. Every day I opened my eyes, it felt as though the walls of the world were closing in on me, and I didn’t know how I could splay my body far enough to keep them apart. A visit to my doctor confirmed the worst; I would be blind within the year.
Instead of hanging out at home and feeling sorry for myself, my wife inspired me to go on a Grand Tour of the world and see as much of it as I can before I can see no more. In essence, I created a vision catalogue.
We traveled to 20 countries. 100 cities. We catalogued every angle of everything I wanted to see. Every location has a number. New York Times Square is NY50. Downtown is 25. Williamsburg is 15. My Mom’s living room is H10, my old bedroom is H1, and the kitchen is H3. Every picture I took, I studied the labeled photo, desperately trying to help me etch each location into my memory.
My wife now refers to locations by number so I have a sense of the angle I need to look at in order for me to remember exactly what it was like before it disappears. And disappear it will, today.
Glenda leads me towards the sunset. I’m unsteady because it’s almost dark in more ways than one. I can just make it out on the horizon. Then a flash of orange passes in front of me, almost blinding me. Ironic. The sea shimmers copper. My final destination, F10. It was worth it to come here, the place of my birth. The sun sets. Darkness. A new life has begun. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | and as my vision starts to fade
i search tirelessly for the view
the one that i'll see for the rest of my days
the one that will still drive me through;
will it be a sunrise bright
set alight by stark contrast and hue
or maybe the forest on a summer morning
grass glittering with chilling dew;
i can fret as i may and believe what i like
for i never had thought that i knew
but from the second they told me i knew it quite well
i want to see always an image of you.
| I have seen so many beautiful things, have been to the most amazing places. Last spring, the cherry blossoms in Japan. You there with that flower in your hair. Your green eyes shining like emeralds. The day was was just a bit chilly, not cold like with a light jacket it was perfect. There was a gentle breeze. You had on that light green sweater over that yellow dress you loved so much. Your hair was blowing in the wind. I swore I had died and you were the angel sent to take me to heaven.
There was that time at the art gallery. Do remember that? I do. We spent the whole day there looking at wonderful peices. You had your chestnut brown hair up in a bun. Those glasses that made you look like a school teacher sitting on the edge of your nose. I know you only came because you knew how much I loved looking at the paintings and statues.
Now sitting here with my vision failing, remembering all of the sights I have seen, the places we have been. You asked me if there was one more thing I wanted to see or see again. You know, I couldn't think of anything more that I would want to see right now then your face. Your eyes that put all of the stars to shame. Your smile that could always stop might heart. The way your nose would crinkle when you would concentrate. Yeah I have seen some beautiful things in this world. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | She took a step forward, her legs aching with years of experience. Her body was not what it once was, but she had used it well. The bruises, the scars, and even the wrinkles all had a story to tell. How she loved to tell them. Children listened intently, eyes open in awe to the sacrifices of the olden days. Those eyes, so much less scarred than hers.
Her eyes held a mysterious depth that absorbed attention with unsatiable hunger. No one could look at those eyes and come out unscathed. Not even her. The stories these told... And not a single word spoken. She saw empires rise and fall all over again everytime she stood in front of a mirror. She saw images of the Sunedeith War and the Seventh Revolution. She saw the dying embers of what once was her city. She still kept one small black stone from her home, stolen from the garden path of her grandmothers' house. A memento of times past and a reminder of continued survival. Her grandmother had survived the Red Eclipse. Her house was one of the few structures that survived the second fall of Bravor. Not that it mattered. Her grandmother had long ago left this realm. As for her, she never returned to that house. It was old and a painful reminder of war. Much like herself, it had seen too much.
People respected her in a way they would respect a God. They would see in her hope, strength, and guidance. They did not see humanity. She was their victories and failures. She was her ship and her soldiers. Even to the weapons they carried. She was reminder of war. The feared her. Not that she cared about any of it. She had fulfilled her role and now she wanted nothing more than to live as simply Selena.
And to the many children sitting in front of her, she was Selena, the storyteller. Children where the only ones who saw her as just another human. An old lady with bags of treats and stories. Stories their parents would never dare tell them. But oh did they need to know. Knowledge as such was hard to come by. Generations to come would find themselved lacking. And this was dangerous, she knew as much. These stories could not die with her.
She also knew, she had little time. The shakes had started. Her vision blurred day by day. Her field of vision growing small and pitiful. She had seen so much already, feeling she had seen too much of the world for it to matter. But she was wrong.
There was one more thing.
Her mother, as strong of a woman and fighter as she was, was also an lover. As a lover, she was an artist. It led to much suffering but her mother loved life, as dark as it was. She simply painted in darker colours. She always hid a little bit of brightness that you could only catch if you looked for it in the right light. However, it had all been lost in the Seventh Revolution. At least, that is what she believed, until Caleb gave her a box.
Caleb was an orphan of barely 13 years old. Smart as a whip, tough as the rock in her pocket. Like her mother, he was an artist too. He appreciated life the way younglings do, naive and resilient with a mind full of wonder. So much curiosity hidden in the depth of their mind, waiting to come out at a moments notice. When he was found in Aria 72, he held his one material posession close to his chest. At mere 4 years old he had survived the end of the world as he knew it only clutching a box full of dried paints and broken brushes. A strange posession for a boy so young found in the remnants of a T-2378z. But he kept the box close, insisting on becoming the first artist of the New World. His father, a surgeon, had once told him that a world without art was only a skeleton of civilization.
Caleb took his mission with pride, discovering colours even in the solid grey walls of the New Aria settlement. He painted with a passion and precision his father would proud of. Selena had never once seen his work. Caleb always painted in secret.
With expecting eyes and a whispered thank you, he handed her a simple brown box. Inside, a treasure no one but Caleb had seen. A treasure so precious, it would be first shared between them. She knew she wouldn't be able to appreciate every detail, not that it mattered. She opened the box and her world exploded in colour. Even in the blurrines of her sight she would recognise her home anywhere. Selena clutched the rock in her posession close to her chest and smiled, looking up to Caleb. Such a beautiful boy, he reminded her so much of her father. Caleb had given her the most beautiful gift. He had given Selena her home. So she gave him one of his own. As Caleb held the rock in his hand, she looked at his face and the world around her disappeared. But she was not alone. Caleb held her hand and hugged her. No, she was not alone. She had a new family now.
Sorry for formatting or mistakes. English is not my first language and I used my phone to type. Feedback welcome. Enjoy! | I have seen so many beautiful things, have been to the most amazing places. Last spring, the cherry blossoms in Japan. You there with that flower in your hair. Your green eyes shining like emeralds. The day was was just a bit chilly, not cold like with a light jacket it was perfect. There was a gentle breeze. You had on that light green sweater over that yellow dress you loved so much. Your hair was blowing in the wind. I swore I had died and you were the angel sent to take me to heaven.
There was that time at the art gallery. Do remember that? I do. We spent the whole day there looking at wonderful peices. You had your chestnut brown hair up in a bun. Those glasses that made you look like a school teacher sitting on the edge of your nose. I know you only came because you knew how much I loved looking at the paintings and statues.
Now sitting here with my vision failing, remembering all of the sights I have seen, the places we have been. You asked me if there was one more thing I wanted to see or see again. You know, I couldn't think of anything more that I would want to see right now then your face. Your eyes that put all of the stars to shame. Your smile that could always stop might heart. The way your nose would crinkle when you would concentrate. Yeah I have seen some beautiful things in this world. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | “There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
I always hated that quote. I preferred “There’s always a silver lining.” Since it wasn’t so literal for me.
Being blind kind of sucked.
Right, where was I? Oh yes, hating stuff.
I hated that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ quote. It was because of my condition where my vision slowly shrank, I don’t remember the technical term but most folks call it ‘Tunnel Vision’.
Really hate that.
So I figure I should go out with one last hurrah!
Most folks who are about to be married usually go out to a strip club.
People who are about to die do whatever the hell they want.
I was going to go blind so I figured I’d go find the best looking thing out there and engrave it into my brain that I’d never forget. Problem is, I had no idea what I was looking for.
I hated that feeling of being lost.
But I had money and I had plenty of time so I travelled the world.
Mountains looked nice enough but I was too cold to appreciate them.
Monuments were impressive but they never really lived up to the hype.
Hell I’ve thrown money at dozens of prostitutes just to see a bunch of girls all over me.
My wife really hated that.
Didn’t surprise me that she left.
Honestly it wasn’t even the prostitutes that got her. It was the fact that I spent years away from her looking for the last perfect image.
Well, I’m an idiot. I know that now. I should’ve stayed with her, been there with her. She was that perfect image, the one thing engraved into my head that I’d never forget.
I don’t even care if I’m blind anymore. I’d give up all my senses just to be with her, hell I’d even give up seeing her if I had that chance.
But now it was too late.
I have Tunnel Vision.
And I hate it.
| I have seen so many beautiful things, have been to the most amazing places. Last spring, the cherry blossoms in Japan. You there with that flower in your hair. Your green eyes shining like emeralds. The day was was just a bit chilly, not cold like with a light jacket it was perfect. There was a gentle breeze. You had on that light green sweater over that yellow dress you loved so much. Your hair was blowing in the wind. I swore I had died and you were the angel sent to take me to heaven.
There was that time at the art gallery. Do remember that? I do. We spent the whole day there looking at wonderful peices. You had your chestnut brown hair up in a bun. Those glasses that made you look like a school teacher sitting on the edge of your nose. I know you only came because you knew how much I loved looking at the paintings and statues.
Now sitting here with my vision failing, remembering all of the sights I have seen, the places we have been. You asked me if there was one more thing I wanted to see or see again. You know, I couldn't think of anything more that I would want to see right now then your face. Your eyes that put all of the stars to shame. Your smile that could always stop might heart. The way your nose would crinkle when you would concentrate. Yeah I have seen some beautiful things in this world. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | I have seen so many beautiful things, have been to the most amazing places. Last spring, the cherry blossoms in Japan. You there with that flower in your hair. Your green eyes shining like emeralds. The day was was just a bit chilly, not cold like with a light jacket it was perfect. There was a gentle breeze. You had on that light green sweater over that yellow dress you loved so much. Your hair was blowing in the wind. I swore I had died and you were the angel sent to take me to heaven.
There was that time at the art gallery. Do remember that? I do. We spent the whole day there looking at wonderful peices. You had your chestnut brown hair up in a bun. Those glasses that made you look like a school teacher sitting on the edge of your nose. I know you only came because you knew how much I loved looking at the paintings and statues.
Now sitting here with my vision failing, remembering all of the sights I have seen, the places we have been. You asked me if there was one more thing I wanted to see or see again. You know, I couldn't think of anything more that I would want to see right now then your face. Your eyes that put all of the stars to shame. Your smile that could always stop might heart. The way your nose would crinkle when you would concentrate. Yeah I have seen some beautiful things in this world. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | She took a step forward, her legs aching with years of experience. Her body was not what it once was, but she had used it well. The bruises, the scars, and even the wrinkles all had a story to tell. How she loved to tell them. Children listened intently, eyes open in awe to the sacrifices of the olden days. Those eyes, so much less scarred than hers.
Her eyes held a mysterious depth that absorbed attention with unsatiable hunger. No one could look at those eyes and come out unscathed. Not even her. The stories these told... And not a single word spoken. She saw empires rise and fall all over again everytime she stood in front of a mirror. She saw images of the Sunedeith War and the Seventh Revolution. She saw the dying embers of what once was her city. She still kept one small black stone from her home, stolen from the garden path of her grandmothers' house. A memento of times past and a reminder of continued survival. Her grandmother had survived the Red Eclipse. Her house was one of the few structures that survived the second fall of Bravor. Not that it mattered. Her grandmother had long ago left this realm. As for her, she never returned to that house. It was old and a painful reminder of war. Much like herself, it had seen too much.
People respected her in a way they would respect a God. They would see in her hope, strength, and guidance. They did not see humanity. She was their victories and failures. She was her ship and her soldiers. Even to the weapons they carried. She was reminder of war. The feared her. Not that she cared about any of it. She had fulfilled her role and now she wanted nothing more than to live as simply Selena.
And to the many children sitting in front of her, she was Selena, the storyteller. Children where the only ones who saw her as just another human. An old lady with bags of treats and stories. Stories their parents would never dare tell them. But oh did they need to know. Knowledge as such was hard to come by. Generations to come would find themselved lacking. And this was dangerous, she knew as much. These stories could not die with her.
She also knew, she had little time. The shakes had started. Her vision blurred day by day. Her field of vision growing small and pitiful. She had seen so much already, feeling she had seen too much of the world for it to matter. But she was wrong.
There was one more thing.
Her mother, as strong of a woman and fighter as she was, was also an lover. As a lover, she was an artist. It led to much suffering but her mother loved life, as dark as it was. She simply painted in darker colours. She always hid a little bit of brightness that you could only catch if you looked for it in the right light. However, it had all been lost in the Seventh Revolution. At least, that is what she believed, until Caleb gave her a box.
Caleb was an orphan of barely 13 years old. Smart as a whip, tough as the rock in her pocket. Like her mother, he was an artist too. He appreciated life the way younglings do, naive and resilient with a mind full of wonder. So much curiosity hidden in the depth of their mind, waiting to come out at a moments notice. When he was found in Aria 72, he held his one material posession close to his chest. At mere 4 years old he had survived the end of the world as he knew it only clutching a box full of dried paints and broken brushes. A strange posession for a boy so young found in the remnants of a T-2378z. But he kept the box close, insisting on becoming the first artist of the New World. His father, a surgeon, had once told him that a world without art was only a skeleton of civilization.
Caleb took his mission with pride, discovering colours even in the solid grey walls of the New Aria settlement. He painted with a passion and precision his father would proud of. Selena had never once seen his work. Caleb always painted in secret.
With expecting eyes and a whispered thank you, he handed her a simple brown box. Inside, a treasure no one but Caleb had seen. A treasure so precious, it would be first shared between them. She knew she wouldn't be able to appreciate every detail, not that it mattered. She opened the box and her world exploded in colour. Even in the blurrines of her sight she would recognise her home anywhere. Selena clutched the rock in her posession close to her chest and smiled, looking up to Caleb. Such a beautiful boy, he reminded her so much of her father. Caleb had given her the most beautiful gift. He had given Selena her home. So she gave him one of his own. As Caleb held the rock in his hand, she looked at his face and the world around her disappeared. But she was not alone. Caleb held her hand and hugged her. No, she was not alone. She had a new family now.
Sorry for formatting or mistakes. English is not my first language and I used my phone to type. Feedback welcome. Enjoy! | I've woken up again tonight. It's been three months since I found out that my vision loss is due to....well, a condition that apparently affects less than one percent of the American population. I spent years dreaming of being part of the one percent. I've saved up as much of my earnings as possible since I started working at twelve years old. I always have loved money; from an early age, I learned to use my talents and skills to help me earn. It wasn't until I was diagnosed that I began to realize how much more I loved my eyes.
The night that I found out about my vision loss, I couldn't sleep. I spent hours staring out my second floor bedroom window into the front yard of my deranged neighbors. I was watching and listening to them yell at each other about God knows what. The house that they live in is owned by a church and it serves as a halfway house of sorts. Each resident or family occupies a section of this multi-unit home. They are allowed to live in the unit with free or reduced rent provided they stay out of trouble with the law enforcement. Needless to say, in the six years that I've lived on this block, I've had a plethora of neighbors. So as I sat watching them through my bedroom window, I began rolling a joint. This wasn't my first time to smoke, in fact, I'd been smoking off and on since my senior year of high school. This night, I just needed to escape the diagnosis.
The next few days and nights were no different. I would smoke increasingly large amounts and stare at something for long periods of time. After about four days of cognitive meandering under the influence of cannabis, I passed out. I slept long and hard. As I opened my eyes from my deep sleep, I instantly remembered my condition. So I continued to lay there for the rest of the day, not wanting to think and not wanting to move.
After those first few days it started to get better. I began to actively research my condition. Although I discovered very limited information about it, I kept searching through forums with conversations about how to deal with going blind. After all, I'm not the first person this has happened to. A lot of the information was helpful, but it began to drive me back towards a state of depression. I read a lot of comments that indicated life became increasingly impossible to live alone. I've been on my own since I was 16 years old. The world I know is one in which I spend the majority of my time alone. I don't mind other people, I just prefer to live, work, and learn on my own. This information about the inevitable transformation that my life would have caused my body to overreact. I ended up sitting in front of the toilet spewing a mixture of water and stomach bile into the bowl.
One week became two weeks. Two weeks became a month. One month became two then three, and here I am. I can't sleep, or rather I don't care to sleep. I don't care to do anything. I stopped attending classes three weeks into my diagnosis. I have wanted to be successful in life. I've dreamed of it. I've set goals and exceeded beyond my expectations. I didn't initially intend to quit school. I just couldn't handle it anymore. I've studied graphics for the last six years - everything from archaelogic sites to modern webpage adverts. Simply put, I love looking at everything. My eyes have been my inspiration. My eyes have been attuned to picking out the most insignificant details in order to understand the graphic as a whole. I don't care to have a future in a world that is nothing but dark.
What is a picture if you have no eyes to see it? What is a cartoon if you cannot watch each character display their emotions on screen? Who am I, if I cannot even see myself? I keep telling myself that a picture without eyes is just a piece of paper with ink. A cartoon without eyes, is a bit of humurous audio. And I....I'm still a fucking person, and I still have thoughts and emotions and a body. But everytime I say it to myself, my head fills with noise. All my thoughts scramble and I can't focus on anything. Images stored in my memory from my entire life dance across the backs of my eyes until my mind fixates on an image of myself standing in front of the mirror with a bottle of what I believe are the prescription pain killers that I saved from my previous surgery (benign brain tumor removal).
I've decided that tonight is the night. I can't understand how to deal with the pain of losing a part of myself. I'm not ready to make the transition to a blind and assisted life. I've spent the last week cleaning up the house, returning library books, settling my bills with the utility companies and informing them that I would not be occupying the residence for much longer and thus will not need their services, and mailing an envelope with the remainder of the rent for the entirety of the lease agreement to my landlord. I've even sold my car, paid off the remaining $6800 of my student loans, and sent letters attempting to explain my decision to each one of the few friends and family members that I do have.
It's time. I'm sorry it had to be this way. I love my vision too much. I just can't continue to live here without it.
I've packed a backpack, and I've purchased an airline ticket to South America. I'm off to see the world that hides in the background of fading photographs. Don't wait for me. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | “There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
I always hated that quote. I preferred “There’s always a silver lining.” Since it wasn’t so literal for me.
Being blind kind of sucked.
Right, where was I? Oh yes, hating stuff.
I hated that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ quote. It was because of my condition where my vision slowly shrank, I don’t remember the technical term but most folks call it ‘Tunnel Vision’.
Really hate that.
So I figure I should go out with one last hurrah!
Most folks who are about to be married usually go out to a strip club.
People who are about to die do whatever the hell they want.
I was going to go blind so I figured I’d go find the best looking thing out there and engrave it into my brain that I’d never forget. Problem is, I had no idea what I was looking for.
I hated that feeling of being lost.
But I had money and I had plenty of time so I travelled the world.
Mountains looked nice enough but I was too cold to appreciate them.
Monuments were impressive but they never really lived up to the hype.
Hell I’ve thrown money at dozens of prostitutes just to see a bunch of girls all over me.
My wife really hated that.
Didn’t surprise me that she left.
Honestly it wasn’t even the prostitutes that got her. It was the fact that I spent years away from her looking for the last perfect image.
Well, I’m an idiot. I know that now. I should’ve stayed with her, been there with her. She was that perfect image, the one thing engraved into my head that I’d never forget.
I don’t even care if I’m blind anymore. I’d give up all my senses just to be with her, hell I’d even give up seeing her if I had that chance.
But now it was too late.
I have Tunnel Vision.
And I hate it.
| I've woken up again tonight. It's been three months since I found out that my vision loss is due to....well, a condition that apparently affects less than one percent of the American population. I spent years dreaming of being part of the one percent. I've saved up as much of my earnings as possible since I started working at twelve years old. I always have loved money; from an early age, I learned to use my talents and skills to help me earn. It wasn't until I was diagnosed that I began to realize how much more I loved my eyes.
The night that I found out about my vision loss, I couldn't sleep. I spent hours staring out my second floor bedroom window into the front yard of my deranged neighbors. I was watching and listening to them yell at each other about God knows what. The house that they live in is owned by a church and it serves as a halfway house of sorts. Each resident or family occupies a section of this multi-unit home. They are allowed to live in the unit with free or reduced rent provided they stay out of trouble with the law enforcement. Needless to say, in the six years that I've lived on this block, I've had a plethora of neighbors. So as I sat watching them through my bedroom window, I began rolling a joint. This wasn't my first time to smoke, in fact, I'd been smoking off and on since my senior year of high school. This night, I just needed to escape the diagnosis.
The next few days and nights were no different. I would smoke increasingly large amounts and stare at something for long periods of time. After about four days of cognitive meandering under the influence of cannabis, I passed out. I slept long and hard. As I opened my eyes from my deep sleep, I instantly remembered my condition. So I continued to lay there for the rest of the day, not wanting to think and not wanting to move.
After those first few days it started to get better. I began to actively research my condition. Although I discovered very limited information about it, I kept searching through forums with conversations about how to deal with going blind. After all, I'm not the first person this has happened to. A lot of the information was helpful, but it began to drive me back towards a state of depression. I read a lot of comments that indicated life became increasingly impossible to live alone. I've been on my own since I was 16 years old. The world I know is one in which I spend the majority of my time alone. I don't mind other people, I just prefer to live, work, and learn on my own. This information about the inevitable transformation that my life would have caused my body to overreact. I ended up sitting in front of the toilet spewing a mixture of water and stomach bile into the bowl.
One week became two weeks. Two weeks became a month. One month became two then three, and here I am. I can't sleep, or rather I don't care to sleep. I don't care to do anything. I stopped attending classes three weeks into my diagnosis. I have wanted to be successful in life. I've dreamed of it. I've set goals and exceeded beyond my expectations. I didn't initially intend to quit school. I just couldn't handle it anymore. I've studied graphics for the last six years - everything from archaelogic sites to modern webpage adverts. Simply put, I love looking at everything. My eyes have been my inspiration. My eyes have been attuned to picking out the most insignificant details in order to understand the graphic as a whole. I don't care to have a future in a world that is nothing but dark.
What is a picture if you have no eyes to see it? What is a cartoon if you cannot watch each character display their emotions on screen? Who am I, if I cannot even see myself? I keep telling myself that a picture without eyes is just a piece of paper with ink. A cartoon without eyes, is a bit of humurous audio. And I....I'm still a fucking person, and I still have thoughts and emotions and a body. But everytime I say it to myself, my head fills with noise. All my thoughts scramble and I can't focus on anything. Images stored in my memory from my entire life dance across the backs of my eyes until my mind fixates on an image of myself standing in front of the mirror with a bottle of what I believe are the prescription pain killers that I saved from my previous surgery (benign brain tumor removal).
I've decided that tonight is the night. I can't understand how to deal with the pain of losing a part of myself. I'm not ready to make the transition to a blind and assisted life. I've spent the last week cleaning up the house, returning library books, settling my bills with the utility companies and informing them that I would not be occupying the residence for much longer and thus will not need their services, and mailing an envelope with the remainder of the rent for the entirety of the lease agreement to my landlord. I've even sold my car, paid off the remaining $6800 of my student loans, and sent letters attempting to explain my decision to each one of the few friends and family members that I do have.
It's time. I'm sorry it had to be this way. I love my vision too much. I just can't continue to live here without it.
I've packed a backpack, and I've purchased an airline ticket to South America. I'm off to see the world that hides in the background of fading photographs. Don't wait for me. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Human cried again today.
We went on an adventure earlier, or at least I thought it would be. We ended up at The Cold Place, and boy do I hate it there. I can't help it, but when I'm there I can't stop shivering. I don't know if it's because its cold, or because I know what's coming.
Human put me on the cold table and Person with Cold Hands came into the room, she always smells like clean. She touched me all over, and I shivered even more. She's really nice, but I don't think I like her. I was hoping that she wouldn't poke me again, but she did. It doesn't really hurt, but it always catches me off guard - and I must always be on guard, to protect Human!
They removed me from the cold table and Human had a long discussion with Person With Cold Hands. They both looked a little worried. I just waited by the door because I couldn't wait to get out of there. Once we got back in the Go Faster, Human sat me down in the seat next to him and looked at me with sad eyes, at least from what I could tell.
What's wrong Human?
He grabbed my head and held my eyes open, taking turns with each one. It was almost like he was looking for something. He just stared at my eyes and sighed. I heard his sniffles.
What is he looking for? Since I was a small, my sight has been slowly been going black so there isn't much to look for in there. Maybe he lost something and thought he might find it in my eyes? Silly Human.
Whatever it is, I can find it. I know I can.
After a long nap, Human started getting adventure stuff together! I was so excited! I hoped it was The Fun Place, I make friends there all the time. Although, I've been ramming into things and other woofs lately - so that might be tough.
To my surprise, we ended up at a huge place with many tall woods. It seemed very familiar. We walked together for a very long time, it was so much fun. I hopped in and out the long tickles from the ground, I swam in the warm wet stuff, and we even played get the round thing in the open field. I was very happy, and so was Human.
As the Big Bright Round Thing started to leave, I couldn't catch my much smaller one that well. I just couldn't see it. That's when Human called me over and we started walking again, but this time we went a little faster. He had to help me on the way, but we made it to a very high place,
We stopped at a top of a ledge. Human sat down in the short tickles from the ground and told me to lay down next to him, which I did - but only if he gave me a belly rub. After an amazing tummy pat, he told me took up. I remember this place now.
Human took me here when I was a small. Other Human met up with us that day, and he brought his Woof with him too - he was a big. That was the first time I sniffed them. Big Woof was very nice and taught me many things. Other Human was also very nice and loving - he gave the best belly rubs.
The four of us had treats and stared at the Big Bright Round Thing being thrown out of the sky. It was very warm and pretty. I told Big Woof that I want to catch it one day, and he said that he'd beat me to it.
Human and Other Human loved each other very much, Big Woof and I could tell. After that day, the four of us were inseparable - our very own pack.
One day, Human started crying and couldn’t stop. Other Human and Big Woof didn't come home that day. I never saw their Go Faster again either. Human said it was totaled, whatever that meant. I really miss them.
Human and I sat in the same spots we were sitting in that day. As the Big Bright Round Thing gets further away, it somehow creates the exact same image we saw with Other Human and Big Woof. I could barely see it, but I knew it was there.
Human started crying again and held me closer. He kept repeating, "One last time, baby, just one more time." as he stroked my ears. Eventually, everything went black.
It's okay Human, I can smell them.
I swear I can smell them.
| David sat next to me on the couch laughing as he tried again to grab my phone. We tussled, he pressed his face to mine - touching foreheads as he kissed me gently on the lips.
"Why won't you let me see them? You're being ridiculous." I could see something - his eye?
No. All I saw was haze. The opthalmologists diagnosed me with macular degeneration 2 years ago. That's the end of the road for a surgeon. After a slew of second opinions I took early retirement and convinced David to take a sabbatical. We'd been together 20 years - since I first saw him across on the quad in our first month of medical school. We looked at each other and we just knew we'd found a kindred spirit.
Our careers engulfed our 20s and 30s and by our 40s we'd just settled into our stride. Different hospitals, different fields, no kids, no pets - just each other. It was heaven.
In the two years since "D-day" we had gone just about everywhere. The suitcase in the corner of the sitting room still had some dirt from the rice field in Vietnam where David thought it would be hilarious to try his hand at creating the world's first rice zen garden. We'd got to Turkey and Tibet, the Gold coast and Phuket and even got in two wild life safaris in Botswana. When my eye sight got worse we stuck to the more touristy things we'd always wanted to do but never got round to - the bold, brash Pompedou centre in Paris, the bright colours of the Princess Reine Sofia museum in Madrid and the pink-purple splendour of the Japanese cherry festival. We just managed to get to the tulip festival in Amsterdam and squeeze in Vietnam (David wanted to try a cookery course) before the eyes gave up for good.
Every now and then I can focus but it's getting harder. As David and I lay together on the couch he pulled away and tried again to grab my phone.
"I want to see it! This "perfect image" that you took us on this International roadtrip to capture. I bet it was Mexico - you've always had such a fascination with that Day of the Dead and those skulls! Or the Taj Mahal - you've always liked the romance of that mausoleum to love. Or maybe something really cheesy like the pebbles on Brighton beach when you insisted on making an artistic sculpture to immortalise our luuuuuurrrve!"
I grinned and handed him the phone. A David-shape pounced on it and I concentrated as hard as I could as his face gradually came into focus. I could see him, his green eyes staring at the screen intently as he swiped through my prized photos on my battered iPhone. His face looked more and more puzzled as he looked at what I knew was there - photo after photo of David. David on the beach looking pensive. David in Milan looking harried. David on the sofa napping with arms and legs gloriously akimbo.
"You've got to be kidding me - where is this image we went on such a wild goose chase for?"
I smiled as I drew him close and said, "You have been my soulmate in this world and the next. I only started living the day you came into my life. You are the first person I want to see when I get up in the morning and the last person I want to see when I get into bed. The sabbatical was just so I could take you to all the places you've nagged me about but that we never took the time to go to. The only image I want to remember - is you....."
I held his face as long as I could as our tears ran. He leant in to kiss me and his face blurred and became haze. This was the last image I would see.
It was perfection. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | David sat next to me on the couch laughing as he tried again to grab my phone. We tussled, he pressed his face to mine - touching foreheads as he kissed me gently on the lips.
"Why won't you let me see them? You're being ridiculous." I could see something - his eye?
No. All I saw was haze. The opthalmologists diagnosed me with macular degeneration 2 years ago. That's the end of the road for a surgeon. After a slew of second opinions I took early retirement and convinced David to take a sabbatical. We'd been together 20 years - since I first saw him across on the quad in our first month of medical school. We looked at each other and we just knew we'd found a kindred spirit.
Our careers engulfed our 20s and 30s and by our 40s we'd just settled into our stride. Different hospitals, different fields, no kids, no pets - just each other. It was heaven.
In the two years since "D-day" we had gone just about everywhere. The suitcase in the corner of the sitting room still had some dirt from the rice field in Vietnam where David thought it would be hilarious to try his hand at creating the world's first rice zen garden. We'd got to Turkey and Tibet, the Gold coast and Phuket and even got in two wild life safaris in Botswana. When my eye sight got worse we stuck to the more touristy things we'd always wanted to do but never got round to - the bold, brash Pompedou centre in Paris, the bright colours of the Princess Reine Sofia museum in Madrid and the pink-purple splendour of the Japanese cherry festival. We just managed to get to the tulip festival in Amsterdam and squeeze in Vietnam (David wanted to try a cookery course) before the eyes gave up for good.
Every now and then I can focus but it's getting harder. As David and I lay together on the couch he pulled away and tried again to grab my phone.
"I want to see it! This "perfect image" that you took us on this International roadtrip to capture. I bet it was Mexico - you've always had such a fascination with that Day of the Dead and those skulls! Or the Taj Mahal - you've always liked the romance of that mausoleum to love. Or maybe something really cheesy like the pebbles on Brighton beach when you insisted on making an artistic sculpture to immortalise our luuuuuurrrve!"
I grinned and handed him the phone. A David-shape pounced on it and I concentrated as hard as I could as his face gradually came into focus. I could see him, his green eyes staring at the screen intently as he swiped through my prized photos on my battered iPhone. His face looked more and more puzzled as he looked at what I knew was there - photo after photo of David. David on the beach looking pensive. David in Milan looking harried. David on the sofa napping with arms and legs gloriously akimbo.
"You've got to be kidding me - where is this image we went on such a wild goose chase for?"
I smiled as I drew him close and said, "You have been my soulmate in this world and the next. I only started living the day you came into my life. You are the first person I want to see when I get up in the morning and the last person I want to see when I get into bed. The sabbatical was just so I could take you to all the places you've nagged me about but that we never took the time to go to. The only image I want to remember - is you....."
I held his face as long as I could as our tears ran. He leant in to kiss me and his face blurred and became haze. This was the last image I would see.
It was perfection. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | David sat next to me on the couch laughing as he tried again to grab my phone. We tussled, he pressed his face to mine - touching foreheads as he kissed me gently on the lips.
"Why won't you let me see them? You're being ridiculous." I could see something - his eye?
No. All I saw was haze. The opthalmologists diagnosed me with macular degeneration 2 years ago. That's the end of the road for a surgeon. After a slew of second opinions I took early retirement and convinced David to take a sabbatical. We'd been together 20 years - since I first saw him across on the quad in our first month of medical school. We looked at each other and we just knew we'd found a kindred spirit.
Our careers engulfed our 20s and 30s and by our 40s we'd just settled into our stride. Different hospitals, different fields, no kids, no pets - just each other. It was heaven.
In the two years since "D-day" we had gone just about everywhere. The suitcase in the corner of the sitting room still had some dirt from the rice field in Vietnam where David thought it would be hilarious to try his hand at creating the world's first rice zen garden. We'd got to Turkey and Tibet, the Gold coast and Phuket and even got in two wild life safaris in Botswana. When my eye sight got worse we stuck to the more touristy things we'd always wanted to do but never got round to - the bold, brash Pompedou centre in Paris, the bright colours of the Princess Reine Sofia museum in Madrid and the pink-purple splendour of the Japanese cherry festival. We just managed to get to the tulip festival in Amsterdam and squeeze in Vietnam (David wanted to try a cookery course) before the eyes gave up for good.
Every now and then I can focus but it's getting harder. As David and I lay together on the couch he pulled away and tried again to grab my phone.
"I want to see it! This "perfect image" that you took us on this International roadtrip to capture. I bet it was Mexico - you've always had such a fascination with that Day of the Dead and those skulls! Or the Taj Mahal - you've always liked the romance of that mausoleum to love. Or maybe something really cheesy like the pebbles on Brighton beach when you insisted on making an artistic sculpture to immortalise our luuuuuurrrve!"
I grinned and handed him the phone. A David-shape pounced on it and I concentrated as hard as I could as his face gradually came into focus. I could see him, his green eyes staring at the screen intently as he swiped through my prized photos on my battered iPhone. His face looked more and more puzzled as he looked at what I knew was there - photo after photo of David. David on the beach looking pensive. David in Milan looking harried. David on the sofa napping with arms and legs gloriously akimbo.
"You've got to be kidding me - where is this image we went on such a wild goose chase for?"
I smiled as I drew him close and said, "You have been my soulmate in this world and the next. I only started living the day you came into my life. You are the first person I want to see when I get up in the morning and the last person I want to see when I get into bed. The sabbatical was just so I could take you to all the places you've nagged me about but that we never took the time to go to. The only image I want to remember - is you....."
I held his face as long as I could as our tears ran. He leant in to kiss me and his face blurred and became haze. This was the last image I would see.
It was perfection. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | This is just my actual life. It's called retinitis pigmentosa. I'm going to Iceland to look at stuff in April. I know this is violating the rules, or whatever, but I just can't not say something. Also nonfiction is subjective enough that some would argue there is no nonfiction, that all writing is interpretation, and that all that matters is whether the story is well written. So let's just admit nonfiction is still writing, and not take this down. Please.
The truth is the things I want to see most are not a sweeping landscape despite my current mission to go to Iceland and look at stuff.. The things I want to see the most are simple and mundane. I want to see my husband's face as he ages, my children's as they grow. I want to see as much of my family as I can before I can't anymore.
It isn't even that I will want to see them, it is that I want them to be seen. There is this incredible emotional need to see and be seen. I don't want them to ever feel like I don't see them.
It is silly to think that I need to physically see them in order to metaphorically see them... but in a weird way we do need that physicality, that immediacy, that connection.
One day I will wander the gallery of my mind, years after I can no longer see, and I will look at the faces of my family. The image will be faded and blurred, pieced together from small fractions of their faces that I glimpsed at in the last year's when my vision was a small pin prick of clarity in a swirl of blurred colors and shapes.
The last image is a collage hung in my heart and revisited impulsively, driven by a nagging physical need to SEE them, to know them as they are, the image shifting, morphing, fracturing and fraying...
And when I let that image go, when I stop feeling that last image to be a true image of them, stop needing it to be so, that moment will be the first moment when I will be truly blind, a true citizen of the sightless world. I will be a new self in a new world.
The last image will be an idea, a memory of a previous life, a previous me. | David sat next to me on the couch laughing as he tried again to grab my phone. We tussled, he pressed his face to mine - touching foreheads as he kissed me gently on the lips.
"Why won't you let me see them? You're being ridiculous." I could see something - his eye?
No. All I saw was haze. The opthalmologists diagnosed me with macular degeneration 2 years ago. That's the end of the road for a surgeon. After a slew of second opinions I took early retirement and convinced David to take a sabbatical. We'd been together 20 years - since I first saw him across on the quad in our first month of medical school. We looked at each other and we just knew we'd found a kindred spirit.
Our careers engulfed our 20s and 30s and by our 40s we'd just settled into our stride. Different hospitals, different fields, no kids, no pets - just each other. It was heaven.
In the two years since "D-day" we had gone just about everywhere. The suitcase in the corner of the sitting room still had some dirt from the rice field in Vietnam where David thought it would be hilarious to try his hand at creating the world's first rice zen garden. We'd got to Turkey and Tibet, the Gold coast and Phuket and even got in two wild life safaris in Botswana. When my eye sight got worse we stuck to the more touristy things we'd always wanted to do but never got round to - the bold, brash Pompedou centre in Paris, the bright colours of the Princess Reine Sofia museum in Madrid and the pink-purple splendour of the Japanese cherry festival. We just managed to get to the tulip festival in Amsterdam and squeeze in Vietnam (David wanted to try a cookery course) before the eyes gave up for good.
Every now and then I can focus but it's getting harder. As David and I lay together on the couch he pulled away and tried again to grab my phone.
"I want to see it! This "perfect image" that you took us on this International roadtrip to capture. I bet it was Mexico - you've always had such a fascination with that Day of the Dead and those skulls! Or the Taj Mahal - you've always liked the romance of that mausoleum to love. Or maybe something really cheesy like the pebbles on Brighton beach when you insisted on making an artistic sculpture to immortalise our luuuuuurrrve!"
I grinned and handed him the phone. A David-shape pounced on it and I concentrated as hard as I could as his face gradually came into focus. I could see him, his green eyes staring at the screen intently as he swiped through my prized photos on my battered iPhone. His face looked more and more puzzled as he looked at what I knew was there - photo after photo of David. David on the beach looking pensive. David in Milan looking harried. David on the sofa napping with arms and legs gloriously akimbo.
"You've got to be kidding me - where is this image we went on such a wild goose chase for?"
I smiled as I drew him close and said, "You have been my soulmate in this world and the next. I only started living the day you came into my life. You are the first person I want to see when I get up in the morning and the last person I want to see when I get into bed. The sabbatical was just so I could take you to all the places you've nagged me about but that we never took the time to go to. The only image I want to remember - is you....."
I held his face as long as I could as our tears ran. He leant in to kiss me and his face blurred and became haze. This was the last image I would see.
It was perfection. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Human cried again today.
We went on an adventure earlier, or at least I thought it would be. We ended up at The Cold Place, and boy do I hate it there. I can't help it, but when I'm there I can't stop shivering. I don't know if it's because its cold, or because I know what's coming.
Human put me on the cold table and Person with Cold Hands came into the room, she always smells like clean. She touched me all over, and I shivered even more. She's really nice, but I don't think I like her. I was hoping that she wouldn't poke me again, but she did. It doesn't really hurt, but it always catches me off guard - and I must always be on guard, to protect Human!
They removed me from the cold table and Human had a long discussion with Person With Cold Hands. They both looked a little worried. I just waited by the door because I couldn't wait to get out of there. Once we got back in the Go Faster, Human sat me down in the seat next to him and looked at me with sad eyes, at least from what I could tell.
What's wrong Human?
He grabbed my head and held my eyes open, taking turns with each one. It was almost like he was looking for something. He just stared at my eyes and sighed. I heard his sniffles.
What is he looking for? Since I was a small, my sight has been slowly been going black so there isn't much to look for in there. Maybe he lost something and thought he might find it in my eyes? Silly Human.
Whatever it is, I can find it. I know I can.
After a long nap, Human started getting adventure stuff together! I was so excited! I hoped it was The Fun Place, I make friends there all the time. Although, I've been ramming into things and other woofs lately - so that might be tough.
To my surprise, we ended up at a huge place with many tall woods. It seemed very familiar. We walked together for a very long time, it was so much fun. I hopped in and out the long tickles from the ground, I swam in the warm wet stuff, and we even played get the round thing in the open field. I was very happy, and so was Human.
As the Big Bright Round Thing started to leave, I couldn't catch my much smaller one that well. I just couldn't see it. That's when Human called me over and we started walking again, but this time we went a little faster. He had to help me on the way, but we made it to a very high place,
We stopped at a top of a ledge. Human sat down in the short tickles from the ground and told me to lay down next to him, which I did - but only if he gave me a belly rub. After an amazing tummy pat, he told me took up. I remember this place now.
Human took me here when I was a small. Other Human met up with us that day, and he brought his Woof with him too - he was a big. That was the first time I sniffed them. Big Woof was very nice and taught me many things. Other Human was also very nice and loving - he gave the best belly rubs.
The four of us had treats and stared at the Big Bright Round Thing being thrown out of the sky. It was very warm and pretty. I told Big Woof that I want to catch it one day, and he said that he'd beat me to it.
Human and Other Human loved each other very much, Big Woof and I could tell. After that day, the four of us were inseparable - our very own pack.
One day, Human started crying and couldn’t stop. Other Human and Big Woof didn't come home that day. I never saw their Go Faster again either. Human said it was totaled, whatever that meant. I really miss them.
Human and I sat in the same spots we were sitting in that day. As the Big Bright Round Thing gets further away, it somehow creates the exact same image we saw with Other Human and Big Woof. I could barely see it, but I knew it was there.
Human started crying again and held me closer. He kept repeating, "One last time, baby, just one more time." as he stroked my ears. Eventually, everything went black.
It's okay Human, I can smell them.
I swear I can smell them.
| We were used to sitting in doctor's offices by now. I had become numb to hearing "it didn't work" and "don't worry, we'll keep trying - you'll conceive next time." But this time was different - I knew I had a short amount of time before my vision would go, and my dream was to see the face of my child, our child, before it was dark forever. This was our second time trying IVF, and I had a confidence that I hadn't felt before - this was the time. The doctor walked in as I clenched my husband's hand.
"You did it."
We've spent all of our money on radiation for ovarian cancer and attempting to get pregnant that we had nothing left. We had no money for a crib, so my husband built one. Occasionally throughout the day my sight would go black and I would wonder if this was it, but a little kick from my womb would snap me back. During ultrasounds I would carefully study each crease on the child's face, just in case my sight would give out before they were born. We had the option of learning the sex, but I refused - I wanted to be able to see it for myself.
Six months into the pregnancy I began to lose my color vision. Everything was duller, but I was still able to see my belly grow larger each week. While cleaning the kitchen one evening, I felt a warm liquid stream down my leg. Assuming it was urine, as incontinence was common during this pregnancy, I grabbed a dish towel and waddled to the bathroom. While my color perception was off, I noticed a reddish hue on the cloth and began to scream.
I couldn't lose this baby. I needed to see them.
In the ER the fluorescent lights seemed brighter than usual but the nurses' faces were blurry. I was hooked up to an ultrasound and my world stood still as we waited for a heartbeat. For the first time since getting pregnant, I turned away from the screen and closed my eyes.
"She's fine. She's going to be okay, you're going to be okay."
She? I opened my eyes and there was darkness. A hue of grey was centered in my vision, but nothing more. I whipped my head towards my husband, but there was nothing. Just a slate-shaded cave. Frantically, I looked toward the ultrasound screen and the doctor, but still, nothing. It was gone.
Three months went by and the grey faded into black. I was angry at how I could no longer help around the house or work. "You're the home for our baby, sweetheart, and that's all we need," my husband would say. The baby I would never see.
I delivered Moseley in August. As the doctor placed her in my arms, I ran my hand over her small face. I felt her nose, her puffy cheeks, and a little patch of hair on her head. "It's brown, like her mom's," the delivery nurse told me.
I closed my eyes and smelled the top of her head. Everything lingered longer in my nose after I lost my sight. I opened my eyes and saw her face. No gray. No black. But her. Only her. I saw nothing else in the room, not my husband, the doctors, the nurses, the fetal monitor, nothing.
Behind me, I heard a voice whisper as my vision went dark again for the final time.
"You did it." |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | We were used to sitting in doctor's offices by now. I had become numb to hearing "it didn't work" and "don't worry, we'll keep trying - you'll conceive next time." But this time was different - I knew I had a short amount of time before my vision would go, and my dream was to see the face of my child, our child, before it was dark forever. This was our second time trying IVF, and I had a confidence that I hadn't felt before - this was the time. The doctor walked in as I clenched my husband's hand.
"You did it."
We've spent all of our money on radiation for ovarian cancer and attempting to get pregnant that we had nothing left. We had no money for a crib, so my husband built one. Occasionally throughout the day my sight would go black and I would wonder if this was it, but a little kick from my womb would snap me back. During ultrasounds I would carefully study each crease on the child's face, just in case my sight would give out before they were born. We had the option of learning the sex, but I refused - I wanted to be able to see it for myself.
Six months into the pregnancy I began to lose my color vision. Everything was duller, but I was still able to see my belly grow larger each week. While cleaning the kitchen one evening, I felt a warm liquid stream down my leg. Assuming it was urine, as incontinence was common during this pregnancy, I grabbed a dish towel and waddled to the bathroom. While my color perception was off, I noticed a reddish hue on the cloth and began to scream.
I couldn't lose this baby. I needed to see them.
In the ER the fluorescent lights seemed brighter than usual but the nurses' faces were blurry. I was hooked up to an ultrasound and my world stood still as we waited for a heartbeat. For the first time since getting pregnant, I turned away from the screen and closed my eyes.
"She's fine. She's going to be okay, you're going to be okay."
She? I opened my eyes and there was darkness. A hue of grey was centered in my vision, but nothing more. I whipped my head towards my husband, but there was nothing. Just a slate-shaded cave. Frantically, I looked toward the ultrasound screen and the doctor, but still, nothing. It was gone.
Three months went by and the grey faded into black. I was angry at how I could no longer help around the house or work. "You're the home for our baby, sweetheart, and that's all we need," my husband would say. The baby I would never see.
I delivered Moseley in August. As the doctor placed her in my arms, I ran my hand over her small face. I felt her nose, her puffy cheeks, and a little patch of hair on her head. "It's brown, like her mom's," the delivery nurse told me.
I closed my eyes and smelled the top of her head. Everything lingered longer in my nose after I lost my sight. I opened my eyes and saw her face. No gray. No black. But her. Only her. I saw nothing else in the room, not my husband, the doctors, the nurses, the fetal monitor, nothing.
Behind me, I heard a voice whisper as my vision went dark again for the final time.
"You did it." |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | We were used to sitting in doctor's offices by now. I had become numb to hearing "it didn't work" and "don't worry, we'll keep trying - you'll conceive next time." But this time was different - I knew I had a short amount of time before my vision would go, and my dream was to see the face of my child, our child, before it was dark forever. This was our second time trying IVF, and I had a confidence that I hadn't felt before - this was the time. The doctor walked in as I clenched my husband's hand.
"You did it."
We've spent all of our money on radiation for ovarian cancer and attempting to get pregnant that we had nothing left. We had no money for a crib, so my husband built one. Occasionally throughout the day my sight would go black and I would wonder if this was it, but a little kick from my womb would snap me back. During ultrasounds I would carefully study each crease on the child's face, just in case my sight would give out before they were born. We had the option of learning the sex, but I refused - I wanted to be able to see it for myself.
Six months into the pregnancy I began to lose my color vision. Everything was duller, but I was still able to see my belly grow larger each week. While cleaning the kitchen one evening, I felt a warm liquid stream down my leg. Assuming it was urine, as incontinence was common during this pregnancy, I grabbed a dish towel and waddled to the bathroom. While my color perception was off, I noticed a reddish hue on the cloth and began to scream.
I couldn't lose this baby. I needed to see them.
In the ER the fluorescent lights seemed brighter than usual but the nurses' faces were blurry. I was hooked up to an ultrasound and my world stood still as we waited for a heartbeat. For the first time since getting pregnant, I turned away from the screen and closed my eyes.
"She's fine. She's going to be okay, you're going to be okay."
She? I opened my eyes and there was darkness. A hue of grey was centered in my vision, but nothing more. I whipped my head towards my husband, but there was nothing. Just a slate-shaded cave. Frantically, I looked toward the ultrasound screen and the doctor, but still, nothing. It was gone.
Three months went by and the grey faded into black. I was angry at how I could no longer help around the house or work. "You're the home for our baby, sweetheart, and that's all we need," my husband would say. The baby I would never see.
I delivered Moseley in August. As the doctor placed her in my arms, I ran my hand over her small face. I felt her nose, her puffy cheeks, and a little patch of hair on her head. "It's brown, like her mom's," the delivery nurse told me.
I closed my eyes and smelled the top of her head. Everything lingered longer in my nose after I lost my sight. I opened my eyes and saw her face. No gray. No black. But her. Only her. I saw nothing else in the room, not my husband, the doctors, the nurses, the fetal monitor, nothing.
Behind me, I heard a voice whisper as my vision went dark again for the final time.
"You did it." |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | This is just my actual life. It's called retinitis pigmentosa. I'm going to Iceland to look at stuff in April. I know this is violating the rules, or whatever, but I just can't not say something. Also nonfiction is subjective enough that some would argue there is no nonfiction, that all writing is interpretation, and that all that matters is whether the story is well written. So let's just admit nonfiction is still writing, and not take this down. Please.
The truth is the things I want to see most are not a sweeping landscape despite my current mission to go to Iceland and look at stuff.. The things I want to see the most are simple and mundane. I want to see my husband's face as he ages, my children's as they grow. I want to see as much of my family as I can before I can't anymore.
It isn't even that I will want to see them, it is that I want them to be seen. There is this incredible emotional need to see and be seen. I don't want them to ever feel like I don't see them.
It is silly to think that I need to physically see them in order to metaphorically see them... but in a weird way we do need that physicality, that immediacy, that connection.
One day I will wander the gallery of my mind, years after I can no longer see, and I will look at the faces of my family. The image will be faded and blurred, pieced together from small fractions of their faces that I glimpsed at in the last year's when my vision was a small pin prick of clarity in a swirl of blurred colors and shapes.
The last image is a collage hung in my heart and revisited impulsively, driven by a nagging physical need to SEE them, to know them as they are, the image shifting, morphing, fracturing and fraying...
And when I let that image go, when I stop feeling that last image to be a true image of them, stop needing it to be so, that moment will be the first moment when I will be truly blind, a true citizen of the sightless world. I will be a new self in a new world.
The last image will be an idea, a memory of a previous life, a previous me. | We were used to sitting in doctor's offices by now. I had become numb to hearing "it didn't work" and "don't worry, we'll keep trying - you'll conceive next time." But this time was different - I knew I had a short amount of time before my vision would go, and my dream was to see the face of my child, our child, before it was dark forever. This was our second time trying IVF, and I had a confidence that I hadn't felt before - this was the time. The doctor walked in as I clenched my husband's hand.
"You did it."
We've spent all of our money on radiation for ovarian cancer and attempting to get pregnant that we had nothing left. We had no money for a crib, so my husband built one. Occasionally throughout the day my sight would go black and I would wonder if this was it, but a little kick from my womb would snap me back. During ultrasounds I would carefully study each crease on the child's face, just in case my sight would give out before they were born. We had the option of learning the sex, but I refused - I wanted to be able to see it for myself.
Six months into the pregnancy I began to lose my color vision. Everything was duller, but I was still able to see my belly grow larger each week. While cleaning the kitchen one evening, I felt a warm liquid stream down my leg. Assuming it was urine, as incontinence was common during this pregnancy, I grabbed a dish towel and waddled to the bathroom. While my color perception was off, I noticed a reddish hue on the cloth and began to scream.
I couldn't lose this baby. I needed to see them.
In the ER the fluorescent lights seemed brighter than usual but the nurses' faces were blurry. I was hooked up to an ultrasound and my world stood still as we waited for a heartbeat. For the first time since getting pregnant, I turned away from the screen and closed my eyes.
"She's fine. She's going to be okay, you're going to be okay."
She? I opened my eyes and there was darkness. A hue of grey was centered in my vision, but nothing more. I whipped my head towards my husband, but there was nothing. Just a slate-shaded cave. Frantically, I looked toward the ultrasound screen and the doctor, but still, nothing. It was gone.
Three months went by and the grey faded into black. I was angry at how I could no longer help around the house or work. "You're the home for our baby, sweetheart, and that's all we need," my husband would say. The baby I would never see.
I delivered Moseley in August. As the doctor placed her in my arms, I ran my hand over her small face. I felt her nose, her puffy cheeks, and a little patch of hair on her head. "It's brown, like her mom's," the delivery nurse told me.
I closed my eyes and smelled the top of her head. Everything lingered longer in my nose after I lost my sight. I opened my eyes and saw her face. No gray. No black. But her. Only her. I saw nothing else in the room, not my husband, the doctors, the nurses, the fetal monitor, nothing.
Behind me, I heard a voice whisper as my vision went dark again for the final time.
"You did it." |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | It's probably 7a.m. The bedroom ceiling is glowing faintly with curtain filtered sunlight. I miss watching the dust motes dance. But it's okay.
It's been 20 years since we sat with two mugs of coffee between us. I should have stolen more glances of you back then. But it's okay.
It's been 15 years since we finally got our own place and more than two mugs in the apartment. It was for just in case we have dinner guests. We hardly did. But it's okay.
It's been 10 years since we heard the doctor read out the result of my failing eyesight. We argued about traveling and you cried again. But it's okay.
It's been five years since we found Mollie, my guide dog, your second snuggle buddy. I'm starting to feel my way around our place a little more. But it's okay.
It's probably 8a.m. It's a weekend so you won't be up yet. Recently, you keep asking me what else I want to see. I've seen everything I want to see.
20 years ago. You were blushing so much. Mumbling and talking with your hands about your favourite bands because I asked. I watched you drink your hot matcha tea while I took smaller sips of my mocha on the second floor of the coffee shop.
15 years ago I saw your eyes stare at every inch of the walls, ceiling, floor before lying down and breathing out a small "it's perfect". We were giggly and bought too much kitchenware for just two people. I'll never tire of watching you cook in the small but cosy kitchen.
10 years ago I watched your hand tighten around mine at the doctor's office. I saw determination and recklessness on your face a month after when I came home to you sitting at the dining table with our passports. You teared up and said we should have gone years ago. The house was empty for five months.
5 years ago I watched you sign the papers for a new occupant in our small apartment, Mollie. Beautiful Mollie. More often than not, you'd be asleep with her on the couch after I step out of the shower. Everything illuminated by the TV screen looked like a coloured blur at this time.
It's probably 9a.m. I can't read the clock on the wall anymore. I can't make out the pattern on our blankets either. But I can feel you and it's okay. I must have moved too much. You turned around, said good morning. Gently, pulled me under your chin and fell asleep again.
I don't need to travel anymore. I don't need to stay up hoping I can see stars again. The perfect image has always been there. Soaked in sunlight, inches from my face. The one last perfect image I want to see has always been you. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | It's probably 7a.m. The bedroom ceiling is glowing faintly with curtain filtered sunlight. I miss watching the dust motes dance. But it's okay.
It's been 20 years since we sat with two mugs of coffee between us. I should have stolen more glances of you back then. But it's okay.
It's been 15 years since we finally got our own place and more than two mugs in the apartment. It was for just in case we have dinner guests. We hardly did. But it's okay.
It's been 10 years since we heard the doctor read out the result of my failing eyesight. We argued about traveling and you cried again. But it's okay.
It's been five years since we found Mollie, my guide dog, your second snuggle buddy. I'm starting to feel my way around our place a little more. But it's okay.
It's probably 8a.m. It's a weekend so you won't be up yet. Recently, you keep asking me what else I want to see. I've seen everything I want to see.
20 years ago. You were blushing so much. Mumbling and talking with your hands about your favourite bands because I asked. I watched you drink your hot matcha tea while I took smaller sips of my mocha on the second floor of the coffee shop.
15 years ago I saw your eyes stare at every inch of the walls, ceiling, floor before lying down and breathing out a small "it's perfect". We were giggly and bought too much kitchenware for just two people. I'll never tire of watching you cook in the small but cosy kitchen.
10 years ago I watched your hand tighten around mine at the doctor's office. I saw determination and recklessness on your face a month after when I came home to you sitting at the dining table with our passports. You teared up and said we should have gone years ago. The house was empty for five months.
5 years ago I watched you sign the papers for a new occupant in our small apartment, Mollie. Beautiful Mollie. More often than not, you'd be asleep with her on the couch after I step out of the shower. Everything illuminated by the TV screen looked like a coloured blur at this time.
It's probably 9a.m. I can't read the clock on the wall anymore. I can't make out the pattern on our blankets either. But I can feel you and it's okay. I must have moved too much. You turned around, said good morning. Gently, pulled me under your chin and fell asleep again.
I don't need to travel anymore. I don't need to stay up hoping I can see stars again. The perfect image has always been there. Soaked in sunlight, inches from my face. The one last perfect image I want to see has always been you. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | This is just my actual life. It's called retinitis pigmentosa. I'm going to Iceland to look at stuff in April. I know this is violating the rules, or whatever, but I just can't not say something. Also nonfiction is subjective enough that some would argue there is no nonfiction, that all writing is interpretation, and that all that matters is whether the story is well written. So let's just admit nonfiction is still writing, and not take this down. Please.
The truth is the things I want to see most are not a sweeping landscape despite my current mission to go to Iceland and look at stuff.. The things I want to see the most are simple and mundane. I want to see my husband's face as he ages, my children's as they grow. I want to see as much of my family as I can before I can't anymore.
It isn't even that I will want to see them, it is that I want them to be seen. There is this incredible emotional need to see and be seen. I don't want them to ever feel like I don't see them.
It is silly to think that I need to physically see them in order to metaphorically see them... but in a weird way we do need that physicality, that immediacy, that connection.
One day I will wander the gallery of my mind, years after I can no longer see, and I will look at the faces of my family. The image will be faded and blurred, pieced together from small fractions of their faces that I glimpsed at in the last year's when my vision was a small pin prick of clarity in a swirl of blurred colors and shapes.
The last image is a collage hung in my heart and revisited impulsively, driven by a nagging physical need to SEE them, to know them as they are, the image shifting, morphing, fracturing and fraying...
And when I let that image go, when I stop feeling that last image to be a true image of them, stop needing it to be so, that moment will be the first moment when I will be truly blind, a true citizen of the sightless world. I will be a new self in a new world.
The last image will be an idea, a memory of a previous life, a previous me. | It's probably 7a.m. The bedroom ceiling is glowing faintly with curtain filtered sunlight. I miss watching the dust motes dance. But it's okay.
It's been 20 years since we sat with two mugs of coffee between us. I should have stolen more glances of you back then. But it's okay.
It's been 15 years since we finally got our own place and more than two mugs in the apartment. It was for just in case we have dinner guests. We hardly did. But it's okay.
It's been 10 years since we heard the doctor read out the result of my failing eyesight. We argued about traveling and you cried again. But it's okay.
It's been five years since we found Mollie, my guide dog, your second snuggle buddy. I'm starting to feel my way around our place a little more. But it's okay.
It's probably 8a.m. It's a weekend so you won't be up yet. Recently, you keep asking me what else I want to see. I've seen everything I want to see.
20 years ago. You were blushing so much. Mumbling and talking with your hands about your favourite bands because I asked. I watched you drink your hot matcha tea while I took smaller sips of my mocha on the second floor of the coffee shop.
15 years ago I saw your eyes stare at every inch of the walls, ceiling, floor before lying down and breathing out a small "it's perfect". We were giggly and bought too much kitchenware for just two people. I'll never tire of watching you cook in the small but cosy kitchen.
10 years ago I watched your hand tighten around mine at the doctor's office. I saw determination and recklessness on your face a month after when I came home to you sitting at the dining table with our passports. You teared up and said we should have gone years ago. The house was empty for five months.
5 years ago I watched you sign the papers for a new occupant in our small apartment, Mollie. Beautiful Mollie. More often than not, you'd be asleep with her on the couch after I step out of the shower. Everything illuminated by the TV screen looked like a coloured blur at this time.
It's probably 9a.m. I can't read the clock on the wall anymore. I can't make out the pattern on our blankets either. But I can feel you and it's okay. I must have moved too much. You turned around, said good morning. Gently, pulled me under your chin and fell asleep again.
I don't need to travel anymore. I don't need to stay up hoping I can see stars again. The perfect image has always been there. Soaked in sunlight, inches from my face. The one last perfect image I want to see has always been you. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | It's been about a year since the diagnosis. The doctors said it was incurable and it would rapidly progress. Luckily the doctor didn't know everything in this case. The initial estimate was that I'd be completely blind within a couple of weeks but, like I said...one year later and here we are.
After the diagnosis there were a lot of tears as to be expected, mostly from my mate...and myself...ok a lot from myself...shut up I can't help that I'm sensitive.
So about a week after it happened we decided to use the funds we'd saved up from working to go in search of what I called my "final sunrise" something that would stick with me for the rest of time. It started in London, we saw Big Ben, Buckingham Palace (a little too rich for my tastes but hey, to each their own), the Millennium Wheel was really cool, though being that high up gave me vertigo.
After London, we went north, to the land where my family hailed, Scotland! I got to see our family estate and got to show my mate around it. The air was so clear that day and the sky the purest blue. But still, that sunset escaped me. A month after the United Kingdom and we were off to Egypt for a pilgrimage to see the place where my and his faith were practiced in earnest millennia ago. By now my sight had begun to narrow but still, the Great Pyramids were as awe inspiring to me as they must have been to travelers all those era's ago.
Though we couldn't go everywhere we wanted, because of work, because of life, because of all those little moments. We still went on one last trip. My mate surprised me over dinner one evening in October, right around Halloween, he'd gotten two round trip tickets to Tokyo. Both of us being unapologetic fans of anime of all kinds, it was the magnum opus of our escapade around the world. Tokyo, Kyoto and the Great Shrine of Inari, and of course, the Hokkaido Fox Village. I got to pet one of those catdogs up close! Best. Day. EVER! I could just make out those derpy looks on their muzzles as they tried to steal my backpack.
So...did I ever find my sunset? I'm about to. This will probably be the last thing I see. I only have a few days left before it goes completely dark. This will most likely be my last time writing like this. So much for my career as a writer right? ah well. I'd go on a spiel about the best-laid plans and something deep like that as I'm often known to do, but as my best man just pointed out, I'm about to be late for my own wedding!
I don't know if anyone will ever read this diary thing besides me and Eric, but if you happen to stumble upon it take my advice: See the world as if it was the last time you'd be able to. Take in each color, each detail, absorb it and memorize it, you'll be glad you did later.
(So that's my first time ever posting here and the first time EVER publishing anything I've written online. I know, my grammar sucks.) |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | It's been about a year since the diagnosis. The doctors said it was incurable and it would rapidly progress. Luckily the doctor didn't know everything in this case. The initial estimate was that I'd be completely blind within a couple of weeks but, like I said...one year later and here we are.
After the diagnosis there were a lot of tears as to be expected, mostly from my mate...and myself...ok a lot from myself...shut up I can't help that I'm sensitive.
So about a week after it happened we decided to use the funds we'd saved up from working to go in search of what I called my "final sunrise" something that would stick with me for the rest of time. It started in London, we saw Big Ben, Buckingham Palace (a little too rich for my tastes but hey, to each their own), the Millennium Wheel was really cool, though being that high up gave me vertigo.
After London, we went north, to the land where my family hailed, Scotland! I got to see our family estate and got to show my mate around it. The air was so clear that day and the sky the purest blue. But still, that sunset escaped me. A month after the United Kingdom and we were off to Egypt for a pilgrimage to see the place where my and his faith were practiced in earnest millennia ago. By now my sight had begun to narrow but still, the Great Pyramids were as awe inspiring to me as they must have been to travelers all those era's ago.
Though we couldn't go everywhere we wanted, because of work, because of life, because of all those little moments. We still went on one last trip. My mate surprised me over dinner one evening in October, right around Halloween, he'd gotten two round trip tickets to Tokyo. Both of us being unapologetic fans of anime of all kinds, it was the magnum opus of our escapade around the world. Tokyo, Kyoto and the Great Shrine of Inari, and of course, the Hokkaido Fox Village. I got to pet one of those catdogs up close! Best. Day. EVER! I could just make out those derpy looks on their muzzles as they tried to steal my backpack.
So...did I ever find my sunset? I'm about to. This will probably be the last thing I see. I only have a few days left before it goes completely dark. This will most likely be my last time writing like this. So much for my career as a writer right? ah well. I'd go on a spiel about the best-laid plans and something deep like that as I'm often known to do, but as my best man just pointed out, I'm about to be late for my own wedding!
I don't know if anyone will ever read this diary thing besides me and Eric, but if you happen to stumble upon it take my advice: See the world as if it was the last time you'd be able to. Take in each color, each detail, absorb it and memorize it, you'll be glad you did later.
(So that's my first time ever posting here and the first time EVER publishing anything I've written online. I know, my grammar sucks.) |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | I've been saving this compliment for months now. It's nothing too special. Not a Magnum Opus by any stretch of the imagination, but it'll have the desired effect. My vision is nearing its end. I'm not scared. To some, blindness may be terrifying; however, I had a plan. We've taken measures to assure a long and comfortable life when it does finally go. Besides, I have her.
I'm sitting up in bed, an activity I'd seen much of recently, and contemplating my master plan. A flurry of emotion washes over me. It usually does when my mind becomes occupied with her. I panic momentarily, fearing the worst, but manage to bring myself to peace.
I hear footsteps on the landing below. Soft and muffled from the thick green carpet that covers both the tight, clumsy staircase and the attic which had become our bedroom. A movement draws what's left of my vision to the stairs as she hops up the last step.
Draped in her favourite oversized T-shirt, which dropped nearly down to her knees, she flops down next to me. Her beauty never did lie in elegance. Rather, it was her childlike glee and jumpiness that pulled the corners of my lips into a smile. Her imperfections brought her to life, just as they stole my heart the moment I laid my eyes on her. The same eyes that had little life left in them.
I turn over to her and whisper her name. She returns my gaze. "Yes?" she replies. "I have something very important to tell you." I say "You have a very special talent. Something nobody but you can ever do. You alone can make me smile and laugh and feel butterflies in my stomach when moments before I'd been sobbing like a lost child."
I examine her face, awaiting her response. She smiles, slowly at first, then a full grin. Her cheeks rise and she begins to squint, ever so slightly, showing her laugh lines in the corner of her eyes. She shies away from compliments, so her chin tilts downwards. Some loose strands of hair tumble forward and cast small shadows over her face. She's trying to hide, but doesn't break eye contact with me. Her big, brown doe eyes are easy to get lost in.
This adorable smile is one I've come to love. It encapsulates all of her beauty and proves her humbleness. Not knowing just how beautiful she is makes her even more beautiful in a sense. I close my eyes and lean in for a kiss. Our lips touch gently. Then, calmly and carefully, I rest my head in the crook of her neck. We lay together in tranquility, listening to the rise and fall of our chests and the beating of our hearts.
Sleep comes for me. As I feel myself losing consciousness, I recall the image of her shy smile and feel my own lips curl into a grin. My breathing slows and the light fades - forevermore. |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | Katie sighed, blowing hair out of her eyes.
"It's 4:30 AM, Max. The flight's at 6. Do we really need to go now?"
"Yes," I explained, "if I miss this flight and spend my last day of sight in Jacksonville, I'm never gonna let myself forget it."
She smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you at least happy to go to new places."
We got onto the plane with me only falling over a couple times. Katie had gotten pretty good at knowing when I'd trip, and catching me when I did. Having a best friend as good as her never failed to make me smile, even in the early days of the disease when I ate pavement several times a day. Hand always out to help me up, she was one of the few friends I had who'd stuck with me through this hell. She and I had travelled across the globe, looking at various monuments and religious shrines, hoping we'd find something I'd be content to watch as my vision disappeared forever.
Setting up camp in California was easy. I'd pitched enough tents and unrolled enough sleeping bags as a kid that I could do it with my eyes closed. The problem wasn't that. The problem was that I still felt unsatisfied- I didn't feel ready to give up my vision yet, I didn't feel like I'd seen The Perfect Sight. Katie came up on my left. She studied my face for a brief moment.
"Still not it, huh?"
We sat, leaning against a massive tree.
"I just... all this shit we've seen is so cool, y'know? I love it, and I love seeing it with my best friend in the world. It's just that it doesn't *mean* anything to me. I don't have any memories of those wonderful places. I don't feel a connection to them."
"I get that. I'm sorry, Max. I tried to find places for you, places you would like. I guess I just didn't try hard enough..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
"No! No. Katie, you did way more than you had to, way more than I could've ever asked of you. You've been absolutely perfect."
With those last words, the hints of a smile took hold in her face, and something clicked in my brain.
Maybe it was seeing, through permanent tunnel-vision, the way the sun caught her eyes just right and glinted off her golden-brown hair. Maybe it was the way she squeezed my hand when I slipped it into hers. Maybe it was just realizing that the sight I had been looking for had been traveling alongside me for months, and that I was deeply, deeply in love with her.
Whatever it was, I was finally satisfied as the gray closed over her beautiful face, marking the last thing I ever saw. | and as my vision starts to fade
i search tirelessly for the view
the one that i'll see for the rest of my days
the one that will still drive me through;
will it be a sunrise bright
set alight by stark contrast and hue
or maybe the forest on a summer morning
grass glittering with chilling dew;
i can fret as i may and believe what i like
for i never had thought that i knew
but from the second they told me i knew it quite well
i want to see always an image of you.
|
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | As the dark, cold reminder of your impending doom looms ever heavy upon your ravaged body and soul and mind, you think of one thing: her. Soon you shall never see, hear, nor touch your beloved and a crushing anxiety squelched all hope of reprieve.
The code blue is called. The reaper stands in the doorway to ever take you away from your life, your love. And then, with but the last gasp of of conscious thought, she brushes death himself aside. As you lie in your final moments of life your world is taken in by azure so beautiful Poseidon would be envious. The last words spoken in unison before you make your inevitable departure ring thus: I love you.
Edit: a repeating clause. This is why you proofread! |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | This is just my actual life. It's called retinitis pigmentosa. I'm going to Iceland to look at stuff in April. I know this is violating the rules, or whatever, but I just can't not say something. Also nonfiction is subjective enough that some would argue there is no nonfiction, that all writing is interpretation, and that all that matters is whether the story is well written. So let's just admit nonfiction is still writing, and not take this down. Please.
The truth is the things I want to see most are not a sweeping landscape despite my current mission to go to Iceland and look at stuff.. The things I want to see the most are simple and mundane. I want to see my husband's face as he ages, my children's as they grow. I want to see as much of my family as I can before I can't anymore.
It isn't even that I will want to see them, it is that I want them to be seen. There is this incredible emotional need to see and be seen. I don't want them to ever feel like I don't see them.
It is silly to think that I need to physically see them in order to metaphorically see them... but in a weird way we do need that physicality, that immediacy, that connection.
One day I will wander the gallery of my mind, years after I can no longer see, and I will look at the faces of my family. The image will be faded and blurred, pieced together from small fractions of their faces that I glimpsed at in the last year's when my vision was a small pin prick of clarity in a swirl of blurred colors and shapes.
The last image is a collage hung in my heart and revisited impulsively, driven by a nagging physical need to SEE them, to know them as they are, the image shifting, morphing, fracturing and fraying...
And when I let that image go, when I stop feeling that last image to be a true image of them, stop needing it to be so, that moment will be the first moment when I will be truly blind, a true citizen of the sightless world. I will be a new self in a new world.
The last image will be an idea, a memory of a previous life, a previous me. | As the dark, cold reminder of your impending doom looms ever heavy upon your ravaged body and soul and mind, you think of one thing: her. Soon you shall never see, hear, nor touch your beloved and a crushing anxiety squelched all hope of reprieve.
The code blue is called. The reaper stands in the doorway to ever take you away from your life, your love. And then, with but the last gasp of of conscious thought, she brushes death himself aside. As you lie in your final moments of life your world is taken in by azure so beautiful Poseidon would be envious. The last words spoken in unison before you make your inevitable departure ring thus: I love you.
Edit: a repeating clause. This is why you proofread! |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | *"When I consider how my light is spent...."*
I remember with absolute clarity the day they told me. Miltonian Optic Neuritis - a rare (and seemingly impossible) condition where the optic nerve begins to simply disintegrate. Unlike many disorders of the eye this one does not slowly diminish your vision, gradually darkening the world until nothing remains. They warned me it would be no gradual thing - indeed it probably would've gone unnoticed except for an especially in-depth routine checkup. Instead one day the optic nerve would be severed and I would be blind.
"Ten years and five months..." the doctor said "...give or take a couple weeks."
I noted that the diagnosis was oddly specific. He shrugged and said something about the power of diagnostic medicine. He also noted another odd side effect of the condition - whatever it was that was killing the nerve endings in my eyes was also going to stimulate the vision centres of my brain. My memory had always been good, but the doctor explained that as the disease progressed I would be able to remember things I had seen with greater and greater clarity until at last my vision would vanish and whatever I saw would be etched on my mind forever.
I went home. Delivered the news to my wife and my daughter. She was young then - only five years old - and didn't really understand why Mommy and Daddy were crying. After a moment's recollection I came to agree with her. Why was I crying? I had ten years left. Ten years of things I could see. Things I would be able to recall with absolute clarity once the darkness claimed me.
I realised quickly that wasting my time working was not the answer. Yes, the salary was nice, but I did not want my eternal night to be filled with inane lines of code. Instead, I decided, I would travel. See the world and commit the greatest and most beautiful things I could imagine to my mind.
I travelled to Egypt and see the Pyramids. To Jerusalem to see the land that gave birth to three religions. I travelled to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. I waited in line to see the Mona Lisa. I travelled to Moscow to see St. Basil's. To India to see the Ganges. To China to see the Great Wall. To Nepal to see Everest.
I travelled light and cheap. I did not have enough money to spend my day in luxury, but it was worth it. I would gather these things to me and hold them in my mind for as long as I lived. Of course my wife could not come with me (save to Paris, which she had always dreamed of) - we had a daughter to support. One of us had to work. And she understood my predicament. My daughter could not travel either - schooling was important and it took up most of the year. Nor was she interested in sitting with Daddy staring at things.
I travelled to Australia to see Uluru. To Zimbabwe to see Victoria Falls. I even managed to travel to Iraq to see the ancient city of Baghdad.
But seeing these things did not bring me fulfilment. They did not bring me contentment. They were the great works of Man and Nature, but what were they to me. Images that would follow me for the rest of my life, but I felt no connection with them. They held nothing for me.
I tried to find more meaningful things to burn into my mind. The homelands of my ancestors in England, Ireland, Scotland and France. The gravestones of family members I would never again meet and those I had never met. They were not what I was looking for either. Perhaps it was their way of life that I was missing. I signed on a sailing ship and sailed the same sea my Grandfather had. I spent a season working on a farm.
My light was spent when I woke up yesterday morning. Everything was utter dark. There was no light, no shadow, nothing but the vast inky blackness of my new prison. In my wisdom I had made emergency plans everywhere I went. Getting home from Barcelona wasn't easy, but it was doable.
My daughter, now old enough to drive, picked me up at the airport. "Welcome home Daddy..." she said, in the sing-song voice she used to greet me with when she was five "...did you see anything beautiful?"
For a moment I tried to focus my mind on her face. On what she had looked like. But it was blurry. Our of focus. I had been away so long and back so irregularly. And she was changing so much.
I started to cry.
"What's wrong Daddy?" she asked, her voice now sounding concerned. But I knew she wouldn't understand. I had been a fool and wasted all those years, all my light, chasing that which was waiting for me at home all this time. | As the dark, cold reminder of your impending doom looms ever heavy upon your ravaged body and soul and mind, you think of one thing: her. Soon you shall never see, hear, nor touch your beloved and a crushing anxiety squelched all hope of reprieve.
The code blue is called. The reaper stands in the doorway to ever take you away from your life, your love. And then, with but the last gasp of of conscious thought, she brushes death himself aside. As you lie in your final moments of life your world is taken in by azure so beautiful Poseidon would be envious. The last words spoken in unison before you make your inevitable departure ring thus: I love you.
Edit: a repeating clause. This is why you proofread! |
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I know I'm too late to get any traction here, but I had to speak up: this is my actual situation.
I have a rare genetic disorder called *retinitis pigmentosa*. It starts with night blindness and compromised peripheral vision. Then comes tunnel vision. Loss of color. Then blindness.
Right now, I'm in the night blindness stage with slipping periphery. I'm spending a hefty chunk of 2017 traveling all over the world to see famous sites, or less famous things that I have always wanted to take in. Examples include Scottish moors, ice caves, and the least light-polluted spots on the planet. Suggestions are welcome!
It's interesting to read your entries! | Human cried again today.
We went on an adventure earlier, or at least I thought it would be. We ended up at The Cold Place, and boy do I hate it there. I can't help it, but when I'm there I can't stop shivering. I don't know if it's because its cold, or because I know what's coming.
Human put me on the cold table and Person with Cold Hands came into the room, she always smells like clean. She touched me all over, and I shivered even more. She's really nice, but I don't think I like her. I was hoping that she wouldn't poke me again, but she did. It doesn't really hurt, but it always catches me off guard - and I must always be on guard, to protect Human!
They removed me from the cold table and Human had a long discussion with Person With Cold Hands. They both looked a little worried. I just waited by the door because I couldn't wait to get out of there. Once we got back in the Go Faster, Human sat me down in the seat next to him and looked at me with sad eyes, at least from what I could tell.
What's wrong Human?
He grabbed my head and held my eyes open, taking turns with each one. It was almost like he was looking for something. He just stared at my eyes and sighed. I heard his sniffles.
What is he looking for? Since I was a small, my sight has been slowly been going black so there isn't much to look for in there. Maybe he lost something and thought he might find it in my eyes? Silly Human.
Whatever it is, I can find it. I know I can.
After a long nap, Human started getting adventure stuff together! I was so excited! I hoped it was The Fun Place, I make friends there all the time. Although, I've been ramming into things and other woofs lately - so that might be tough.
To my surprise, we ended up at a huge place with many tall woods. It seemed very familiar. We walked together for a very long time, it was so much fun. I hopped in and out the long tickles from the ground, I swam in the warm wet stuff, and we even played get the round thing in the open field. I was very happy, and so was Human.
As the Big Bright Round Thing started to leave, I couldn't catch my much smaller one that well. I just couldn't see it. That's when Human called me over and we started walking again, but this time we went a little faster. He had to help me on the way, but we made it to a very high place,
We stopped at a top of a ledge. Human sat down in the short tickles from the ground and told me to lay down next to him, which I did - but only if he gave me a belly rub. After an amazing tummy pat, he told me took up. I remember this place now.
Human took me here when I was a small. Other Human met up with us that day, and he brought his Woof with him too - he was a big. That was the first time I sniffed them. Big Woof was very nice and taught me many things. Other Human was also very nice and loving - he gave the best belly rubs.
The four of us had treats and stared at the Big Bright Round Thing being thrown out of the sky. It was very warm and pretty. I told Big Woof that I want to catch it one day, and he said that he'd beat me to it.
Human and Other Human loved each other very much, Big Woof and I could tell. After that day, the four of us were inseparable - our very own pack.
One day, Human started crying and couldn’t stop. Other Human and Big Woof didn't come home that day. I never saw their Go Faster again either. Human said it was totaled, whatever that meant. I really miss them.
Human and I sat in the same spots we were sitting in that day. As the Big Bright Round Thing gets further away, it somehow creates the exact same image we saw with Other Human and Big Woof. I could barely see it, but I knew it was there.
Human started crying again and held me closer. He kept repeating, "One last time, baby, just one more time." as he stroked my ears. Eventually, everything went black.
It's okay Human, I can smell them.
I swear I can smell them.
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[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | This is just my actual life. It's called retinitis pigmentosa. I'm going to Iceland to look at stuff in April. I know this is violating the rules, or whatever, but I just can't not say something. Also nonfiction is subjective enough that some would argue there is no nonfiction, that all writing is interpretation, and that all that matters is whether the story is well written. So let's just admit nonfiction is still writing, and not take this down. Please.
The truth is the things I want to see most are not a sweeping landscape despite my current mission to go to Iceland and look at stuff.. The things I want to see the most are simple and mundane. I want to see my husband's face as he ages, my children's as they grow. I want to see as much of my family as I can before I can't anymore.
It isn't even that I will want to see them, it is that I want them to be seen. There is this incredible emotional need to see and be seen. I don't want them to ever feel like I don't see them.
It is silly to think that I need to physically see them in order to metaphorically see them... but in a weird way we do need that physicality, that immediacy, that connection.
One day I will wander the gallery of my mind, years after I can no longer see, and I will look at the faces of my family. The image will be faded and blurred, pieced together from small fractions of their faces that I glimpsed at in the last year's when my vision was a small pin prick of clarity in a swirl of blurred colors and shapes.
The last image is a collage hung in my heart and revisited impulsively, driven by a nagging physical need to SEE them, to know them as they are, the image shifting, morphing, fracturing and fraying...
And when I let that image go, when I stop feeling that last image to be a true image of them, stop needing it to be so, that moment will be the first moment when I will be truly blind, a true citizen of the sightless world. I will be a new self in a new world.
The last image will be an idea, a memory of a previous life, a previous me. | Human cried again today.
We went on an adventure earlier, or at least I thought it would be. We ended up at The Cold Place, and boy do I hate it there. I can't help it, but when I'm there I can't stop shivering. I don't know if it's because its cold, or because I know what's coming.
Human put me on the cold table and Person with Cold Hands came into the room, she always smells like clean. She touched me all over, and I shivered even more. She's really nice, but I don't think I like her. I was hoping that she wouldn't poke me again, but she did. It doesn't really hurt, but it always catches me off guard - and I must always be on guard, to protect Human!
They removed me from the cold table and Human had a long discussion with Person With Cold Hands. They both looked a little worried. I just waited by the door because I couldn't wait to get out of there. Once we got back in the Go Faster, Human sat me down in the seat next to him and looked at me with sad eyes, at least from what I could tell.
What's wrong Human?
He grabbed my head and held my eyes open, taking turns with each one. It was almost like he was looking for something. He just stared at my eyes and sighed. I heard his sniffles.
What is he looking for? Since I was a small, my sight has been slowly been going black so there isn't much to look for in there. Maybe he lost something and thought he might find it in my eyes? Silly Human.
Whatever it is, I can find it. I know I can.
After a long nap, Human started getting adventure stuff together! I was so excited! I hoped it was The Fun Place, I make friends there all the time. Although, I've been ramming into things and other woofs lately - so that might be tough.
To my surprise, we ended up at a huge place with many tall woods. It seemed very familiar. We walked together for a very long time, it was so much fun. I hopped in and out the long tickles from the ground, I swam in the warm wet stuff, and we even played get the round thing in the open field. I was very happy, and so was Human.
As the Big Bright Round Thing started to leave, I couldn't catch my much smaller one that well. I just couldn't see it. That's when Human called me over and we started walking again, but this time we went a little faster. He had to help me on the way, but we made it to a very high place,
We stopped at a top of a ledge. Human sat down in the short tickles from the ground and told me to lay down next to him, which I did - but only if he gave me a belly rub. After an amazing tummy pat, he told me took up. I remember this place now.
Human took me here when I was a small. Other Human met up with us that day, and he brought his Woof with him too - he was a big. That was the first time I sniffed them. Big Woof was very nice and taught me many things. Other Human was also very nice and loving - he gave the best belly rubs.
The four of us had treats and stared at the Big Bright Round Thing being thrown out of the sky. It was very warm and pretty. I told Big Woof that I want to catch it one day, and he said that he'd beat me to it.
Human and Other Human loved each other very much, Big Woof and I could tell. After that day, the four of us were inseparable - our very own pack.
One day, Human started crying and couldn’t stop. Other Human and Big Woof didn't come home that day. I never saw their Go Faster again either. Human said it was totaled, whatever that meant. I really miss them.
Human and I sat in the same spots we were sitting in that day. As the Big Bright Round Thing gets further away, it somehow creates the exact same image we saw with Other Human and Big Woof. I could barely see it, but I knew it was there.
Human started crying again and held me closer. He kept repeating, "One last time, baby, just one more time." as he stroked my ears. Eventually, everything went black.
It's okay Human, I can smell them.
I swear I can smell them.
|
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | *"When I consider how my light is spent...."*
I remember with absolute clarity the day they told me. Miltonian Optic Neuritis - a rare (and seemingly impossible) condition where the optic nerve begins to simply disintegrate. Unlike many disorders of the eye this one does not slowly diminish your vision, gradually darkening the world until nothing remains. They warned me it would be no gradual thing - indeed it probably would've gone unnoticed except for an especially in-depth routine checkup. Instead one day the optic nerve would be severed and I would be blind.
"Ten years and five months..." the doctor said "...give or take a couple weeks."
I noted that the diagnosis was oddly specific. He shrugged and said something about the power of diagnostic medicine. He also noted another odd side effect of the condition - whatever it was that was killing the nerve endings in my eyes was also going to stimulate the vision centres of my brain. My memory had always been good, but the doctor explained that as the disease progressed I would be able to remember things I had seen with greater and greater clarity until at last my vision would vanish and whatever I saw would be etched on my mind forever.
I went home. Delivered the news to my wife and my daughter. She was young then - only five years old - and didn't really understand why Mommy and Daddy were crying. After a moment's recollection I came to agree with her. Why was I crying? I had ten years left. Ten years of things I could see. Things I would be able to recall with absolute clarity once the darkness claimed me.
I realised quickly that wasting my time working was not the answer. Yes, the salary was nice, but I did not want my eternal night to be filled with inane lines of code. Instead, I decided, I would travel. See the world and commit the greatest and most beautiful things I could imagine to my mind.
I travelled to Egypt and see the Pyramids. To Jerusalem to see the land that gave birth to three religions. I travelled to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. I waited in line to see the Mona Lisa. I travelled to Moscow to see St. Basil's. To India to see the Ganges. To China to see the Great Wall. To Nepal to see Everest.
I travelled light and cheap. I did not have enough money to spend my day in luxury, but it was worth it. I would gather these things to me and hold them in my mind for as long as I lived. Of course my wife could not come with me (save to Paris, which she had always dreamed of) - we had a daughter to support. One of us had to work. And she understood my predicament. My daughter could not travel either - schooling was important and it took up most of the year. Nor was she interested in sitting with Daddy staring at things.
I travelled to Australia to see Uluru. To Zimbabwe to see Victoria Falls. I even managed to travel to Iraq to see the ancient city of Baghdad.
But seeing these things did not bring me fulfilment. They did not bring me contentment. They were the great works of Man and Nature, but what were they to me. Images that would follow me for the rest of my life, but I felt no connection with them. They held nothing for me.
I tried to find more meaningful things to burn into my mind. The homelands of my ancestors in England, Ireland, Scotland and France. The gravestones of family members I would never again meet and those I had never met. They were not what I was looking for either. Perhaps it was their way of life that I was missing. I signed on a sailing ship and sailed the same sea my Grandfather had. I spent a season working on a farm.
My light was spent when I woke up yesterday morning. Everything was utter dark. There was no light, no shadow, nothing but the vast inky blackness of my new prison. In my wisdom I had made emergency plans everywhere I went. Getting home from Barcelona wasn't easy, but it was doable.
My daughter, now old enough to drive, picked me up at the airport. "Welcome home Daddy..." she said, in the sing-song voice she used to greet me with when she was five "...did you see anything beautiful?"
For a moment I tried to focus my mind on her face. On what she had looked like. But it was blurry. Our of focus. I had been away so long and back so irregularly. And she was changing so much.
I started to cry.
"What's wrong Daddy?" she asked, her voice now sounding concerned. But I knew she wouldn't understand. I had been a fool and wasted all those years, all my light, chasing that which was waiting for me at home all this time. | I get a late start to the day. I pull myself from my sanctuary that most would call a bed and stumble into the bathroom.
"2 Prozac to call down, 2 Adderall if it's too much." The Doctor Said.
The orange pill bottles remained unopened in the medicine cabinet.
I look into the mirror to self-diagnose.
A black cloud surrounds my figure like a gray-scale portrait.
After making myself presentable, I decide to take what could be my last walk with viable sight.
As I walk down the concrete path, I observe a woman smoking a cigarette on her apartment building's stoop. She looks disgusted and spits loudly onto the pavement as we make eye contact. An appalling sight.
The waste bins look neglected. Trash from the nearby convenience stores compliment what little vegetation borders the walkway.
I start to wonder if I'm going to miss seeing this neighborhood.
I finally arrive at the park and take a seat on a creaky wooden bench. The peeling red paint reminds me of times in my life I ended up here. Morning coffee, late drunken nights, and phone calls I wish to never remember. It all comes back to here.
As I'm lost in thought, a woman sits next to me. An uncontrollable smile crosses my face as I see her. She smiles back.
"Lovely morning we're having” I announced.
"Not in the slightest" She laughed.
"Can I interest you in a coffee?" I asked.
"I think I have the time"
We both walk to the café’ nearby and we passionately discuss a short story in the New Yorker she held by her side.
The black cloud starts to fade to white and I feel alive again.
|
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I remember her face. It was the last clear thing I saw- her face and the flash of high beam headlights swerving in from a blind turn. As my body jolted towards the windshield I flung my arms to reach out to her. She was doing the same, her face had gone gaunt, her eyes were wide. As if fearing not for her death, but of losing her life with me.
She was declared dead on arrival. When I saw her in her casket I could barely recognize her. Darkness had crept into my vision. I moved my fingers across her face- tracing the beautiful round contours of her cheeks, marred with slashes and cuts now. Nothing can scar a thing of such beauty, I thought. Even in death, she was the microcosm of everything I desired.
----
I was waiting at the hallway of another hospital when I stood up, recognizing the sound of her footsteps.
"You still want it?"
"Yes," I said.
"I was about to drop out after what happened, thinking you'd..."
"I'm not backing out," I interrupted, almost snapping.
I could hear her chewing on a piece of nicotine gum as she probably sized me up for bullshit. We had convinced her to quit smoking for the gestation period.
"It is the last thing that remains of her." I said, calmer now.
"Doctor says its two weeks due. All's good and healthy."
We slowly made our way towards the exit, my walking stick tapping ahead rhythmically.
"She was a good woman. Kind. I never thought I'd do IVF, but when she told me about her miscarriage my heart melted. There was a sincerity about her. She even helped me out with my addiction."
I stopped. I heard her stop ahead of me and turn.
"Can I feel it?"
She hesitated for a bit, then she pulled her shirt up to her ribs and took my hands, slowly navigating it across her belly.
"In a few you day's you'll see him," she said.
"I hope I can," I said. I could barely make out my hand as it moved over her tummy. | They say that your priority changes when you discover that you're about to lose something. It could be someone you love, a treasured possession, even your life. The feeling of that impending loss will trigger a certain kind of panic, causing you in act in a certain kind of way. For me, it was the eventual loss of my vision.
It came during a routine eye check-up. Admittedly my eyes having been not feeling great for the past year, but I chalked it up to my increased OT and the frequent staring at the computer. Nothing serious that can't be solved with rest and a few eye drops.
The thing about your body, however, is that as you grow older, it becomes less nimble and more prone to problems. Just like a car. The longer you drive it, the more problems it would give you. Push it a little further and you may very well need to buy a new car.
When the doctor walked in with my results, his face was somber. "Mr Alex, I have some bad news for you." Those words will forever be etched on my mind. At first I refused to believe it. I was still young, I tried to argue. Surely there was something that he could do to remedy the situation. I visited numerous specialists to get a second opinion.
But they all said the same thing. There was little they can do for an eye that was subjected to so much strain. All the gaming at night and sitting close to my computer screen had taken their toll.
When I first told Amy, she was devastated. We had so much planned out. Our marriage, our house, our children. All of them had to take a backseat. Our future had suddenly became uncertain. Seeing her worried face, the tears that streamed down her face, I did what I thought was the correct move. I asked for a breakup.
She cried and pleaded for me not to do it, but to me, it felt like the noble thing to do. She doesn't deserve a man who is going blind, I told myself. I announced the breakup on Facebook for the whole world to see, before disappearing on the next flight out of the country. My eyes meant a lot to me, and the thought of losing them made me feel like I was losing my world.
I didn't care for anything longer, and for me then, I wanted to make full use of my eyes before they go blind. Doctors gave me a year, and during that year, I wanted to capture the perfect images with my eyes before my world goes dark forever. I wanted to remember all the colours and wonders that earth has to offer. And so I traveled.
I climbed the tallest mountains, galloped across the biggest plains, surfed the wildest waves and trekked the densest jungle during that one year. Other than an occasional phone call with my mum to let her know that I was still alive, I contacted no one during my time across the globe.
My eyes laid sight to the bluest of the oceans, the greenest of the jungles, the reddest of flowers and starriest of nights. I had never imagined the world that we lived in to be so beautiful, so full of colours and life outside of the cubicle that I had known so well. And all along as my eyes soaked in the sights, trying to capture the perfect image, I could feel them getting weaker and weaker.
The colours started to be less vibrant, replaced by a gradual darkening of my vision. The colours slowly gave way to grayness, before grayness started to slowly give away to nothingness. Life suddenly became duller for me, as the disease gradually robbed me of my vision. A sense of despair began to grab hold of me as I realized that there were still so many sights that I had not seen, so many places I've not been.
But as my condition worsened, I had not choice but to fly home. The realization that I will never see again dampened my feelings, as I struggled desperately to remember everything that I've seen. The waterfalls, the canyons, the stars, the mountains. But they all felt pale, together with my vision.
I felt a heartbroken at the end of the trip, that my vision had to give way before I could complete my journey. As I stepped out of the arrival hall, I felt a familiar voice call out my name. Amy was waiting for me, and she ran towards me, hugging me in a way that I have not felt in a really long time.
"I have waited so long for you," she said as her tears streamed down her cheeks, a tired smile adorned her face. And seeing her up close, her bright black eyes and her wide cute smile, barely visible from my now fading vision, I finally realized that the perfect image was not far from home after all.
-----------
/r/dori_tales |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | He politely asks the doctor to leave the room. When he is alone he begins to notice everything in a greater light: the blood pressure machine, the linen on the hospital bed. He looks at his hands and marvels at how wrinkly they've become over his 51 years, at how he used to have smooth feminine fingers before he'd taken up gardening as a hobby many years ago.
His house is empty and cold when he takes a final look at it 3 weeks later. He has sold everything, even his grandmother's 200 year old china set. He reluctantly had to let go of it, but what was the point of keeping it if he could never see its delicate and detailed designs, never caress the visual brilliance with his eyes?
He wants to travel. To as many places as possible and in such a limited time. The doctor said he'll lose sight completely five months after he sets out for his great adventure.
He does carry something though: his garden fork, which he has no idea why he is carrying. Maybe he thinks it'll give him a solid reminder of who he is and what he's leaving behind in the small town he was born. He'd never found love in it - love, it seemed, was something for other, more fortunate people.
He first goes to Paris, because he's heard so much good about it. He indulges in French cuisine and takes a trip down the River Seine. In Norway, he is astounded by the tranquility and majesty of the fjords. By this time, as he stays in a cold barn on a lonely mountain, eating heavily boiled fish, his vision is slowing receding, like day rolling quietly into night. But he is determined. He knows he hasn't found what he is looking for.
In India he chokes on the spicy food, doesn't notice immediately, from the corner of his eye, the clothes vendors walking beside him, trying to bargain. In Japan, he accidentally knocks down a vase in an ancient temple and apologizes profusely and what makes the tears finally roll out of his eyes is the sympathy and understanding in the assistant tour guide's voice.
"Eye problem?" the guide asks.
"Yes," he chokes back.
In Zimbabwe, after witnessing the thunder of the Victoria Falls and as he is walking back to his hotel, he notices a local boy carrying a big pot containing an orchid. The boy is struggling, but gracefully, trying to hide it, and the man offers to help him carry it. The boy is going home and both of them lift opposite ends of the pot, walking down streets with neat square houses.
When they arrive, his mother greets them both. She offers to make lunch and the man relishes the earthiness of the traditional flavors. As they sit at the table, he steals glances at the woman, and from what he can make out from his poor vision, he sees that her chin is pointed, her hair is short and coily and the lashes that gilded her eyes were long. He offers to make a few healthy adjustments to the orchid's soil, bringing out his garden fork, and the woman laughs.
They make love two months later, after he comes back from home affairs to renew his stay in the country. It is not his first time having sex, but it reminds him of it, of the thrill and the anxiety. Afterwards they lie holding each other, and he tells her, heart beating, of his illness. She tells him she already knew and that it didn't change anything. She asks him to stay with her. He tells her to come away with him, her and her son.
He still has to visit Copacabanna beach in Brazil. They go together, as a family of three. They go at sunset, when the beach has fewer people. The boy wanders away to play with other children. The man wades in the clear waters with the woman and then kneels in the water. He can't see her very clearly but he pleads with his eyes to see her and, magically, mysteriously, they open up, only for that moment. She kneels down with him in the water and he can see each and every detail as she smiles and kisses his forehead, her face awash with the light of the setting sun. Then, as his eyes close up and, finally, plunge him into a complete and impenetrable darkness, the man sighs a sigh of accomplishment.
| They say that your priority changes when you discover that you're about to lose something. It could be someone you love, a treasured possession, even your life. The feeling of that impending loss will trigger a certain kind of panic, causing you in act in a certain kind of way. For me, it was the eventual loss of my vision.
It came during a routine eye check-up. Admittedly my eyes having been not feeling great for the past year, but I chalked it up to my increased OT and the frequent staring at the computer. Nothing serious that can't be solved with rest and a few eye drops.
The thing about your body, however, is that as you grow older, it becomes less nimble and more prone to problems. Just like a car. The longer you drive it, the more problems it would give you. Push it a little further and you may very well need to buy a new car.
When the doctor walked in with my results, his face was somber. "Mr Alex, I have some bad news for you." Those words will forever be etched on my mind. At first I refused to believe it. I was still young, I tried to argue. Surely there was something that he could do to remedy the situation. I visited numerous specialists to get a second opinion.
But they all said the same thing. There was little they can do for an eye that was subjected to so much strain. All the gaming at night and sitting close to my computer screen had taken their toll.
When I first told Amy, she was devastated. We had so much planned out. Our marriage, our house, our children. All of them had to take a backseat. Our future had suddenly became uncertain. Seeing her worried face, the tears that streamed down her face, I did what I thought was the correct move. I asked for a breakup.
She cried and pleaded for me not to do it, but to me, it felt like the noble thing to do. She doesn't deserve a man who is going blind, I told myself. I announced the breakup on Facebook for the whole world to see, before disappearing on the next flight out of the country. My eyes meant a lot to me, and the thought of losing them made me feel like I was losing my world.
I didn't care for anything longer, and for me then, I wanted to make full use of my eyes before they go blind. Doctors gave me a year, and during that year, I wanted to capture the perfect images with my eyes before my world goes dark forever. I wanted to remember all the colours and wonders that earth has to offer. And so I traveled.
I climbed the tallest mountains, galloped across the biggest plains, surfed the wildest waves and trekked the densest jungle during that one year. Other than an occasional phone call with my mum to let her know that I was still alive, I contacted no one during my time across the globe.
My eyes laid sight to the bluest of the oceans, the greenest of the jungles, the reddest of flowers and starriest of nights. I had never imagined the world that we lived in to be so beautiful, so full of colours and life outside of the cubicle that I had known so well. And all along as my eyes soaked in the sights, trying to capture the perfect image, I could feel them getting weaker and weaker.
The colours started to be less vibrant, replaced by a gradual darkening of my vision. The colours slowly gave way to grayness, before grayness started to slowly give away to nothingness. Life suddenly became duller for me, as the disease gradually robbed me of my vision. A sense of despair began to grab hold of me as I realized that there were still so many sights that I had not seen, so many places I've not been.
But as my condition worsened, I had not choice but to fly home. The realization that I will never see again dampened my feelings, as I struggled desperately to remember everything that I've seen. The waterfalls, the canyons, the stars, the mountains. But they all felt pale, together with my vision.
I felt a heartbroken at the end of the trip, that my vision had to give way before I could complete my journey. As I stepped out of the arrival hall, I felt a familiar voice call out my name. Amy was waiting for me, and she ran towards me, hugging me in a way that I have not felt in a really long time.
"I have waited so long for you," she said as her tears streamed down her cheeks, a tired smile adorned her face. And seeing her up close, her bright black eyes and her wide cute smile, barely visible from my now fading vision, I finally realized that the perfect image was not far from home after all.
-----------
/r/dori_tales |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | By his estimate, a full quarter of an hour had passed by the time the heavy wooden doors to the throne room swung open. The Royal Alchemist hastily pressed his forehead to the ground in obeisance, and counted the steps she took to get to the throne.
"You may rise. State your business, Alchemist."
The Queen's dulcet tones rippled through the expanse of the great hall. As the Alchemist rose, he struggled to keep the eagerness from his voice.
"My Queen, may the years fare you well. Blessed by your name, and let the fairness of your visage..."
"Speak freely, Alchemist. We are not in court, and the night wears upon me."
His hand unconsciously tightened around the flask by his side. "My Queen, I come with great tidings. I believe I have finally found the solution for his Majesty's ailment!"
A handmaiden conveyed the flask to her, and the doubt positively slaked off her words as she peered intently at the viscous green liquid swirling within.
“Alchemist, all the physicians near and far disagree as to the precise cause of the ailment befalling his Majesty. Yet, if there is one thing they can agree on, it is that there is no cure in sight. And now, you would have me believe you have proven them all wrong?”
The Alchemist shook his head doggedly. “My Queen, allow me to clarify. I said I found a solution, not a cure. I too believe that there is no way to reverse his Majesty’s failing eyesight, but there may yet be a way to placate him otherwise.”
He deftly retrieved a cloth bundle from within his robes, and gingerly laid out the contents on the granite floor. The fires in the brazier pots flickered, and cast an orange hue on the empty bottles at his feet.
“My Queen, scores of men we sacrificed, but we eventually succeeded in capturing the cries of the sirens which haunt the western coasts. The trick was to use these gossamer sunlight bottles! And that was the final, elusive ingredient we needed to concoct that potion in your hand.”
“And this would help his Majesty?”
“It may not restore his sight, my Queen, but it would… satisfy him. That potion, there is no desire it does not meet! His Majesty will see whatever it is that his heart truly desires, and with that, he will no longer be discontent with the blindness advancing upon him.”
As the seconds coalesced into moments, and as the moments congealed into periods, the Queen’s silence tightened around the Alchemist’s heart like a vise. Was it that she did not believe him? Did she doubt the effectiveness of the salve? Would he have to present as evidence the many apprentices he had tested the curative on, to show her just how the miracle worked?
An eternity passed before she spoke again. “Tell me, Alchemist, do you see these tapestries hanging around you?”
“I… Yes, my Queen. I do.”
“And you know the import of them?”
“Yes. These were each commissioned by his Majesty, to commemorate each spectacle as he encountered them, just in case they turned out to be the one perfect image he was seeking.”
The Queen sprung from her throne, animated by forces unseen, and strode to the leftmost tapestry. “This was the first one, the Forest of Swords. It boggles the mind still, does it not? How the weapons of every soldier who falls in battle, if not retrieved within a day, somehow vanishes and ends up in this Forest, draping like ripened fruits from the boughs of the towering trees. At night, they say, the weapons rattle as they welcome more to join their folds…”
Her hand lingered on the corners of the tapestry, lost in a sea of memories. As she ran the last threads through her fingers, she gracefully transitioned to the next tapestry.
“Or this one, the Glass Dunes of the Drobi. We travelled there the year after, when his Majesty’s vision continued to worsen and the hunger in him to see more of the world sharpened. Changing shapes every other day, I remember how the Glass Dunes sparkled in the fierce sun, reflecting a myriad of colors, outdoing even the most vivid of rainbows…”
“Or what about that one? The Everlasting Village of Westermire? An entire village of souls, condemned to live their last day in perpetuity? The Imperial Mages feared to unravel the raw magic which causes the Village to relive its final day over and over and over, just before the eruption of Mount Orrungus smothers it, and so we lucky ones get to stand outside that eddy of time, observing yet another of the many wonders this world offers…”
The Alchemist’s heart swelled with pride as the Queen picked up the flask again, and his mind raced with the glories which lay ahead. Why, he would always be known as the one to bring peace to the King, the one who managed to create an experience to trump them all.
What would the King see once the liquid found its way into his veins? What manner of tapestry would he commission? Would he even be able to find the words to convey the sights he would see?
Ensconced in his reverie, the Alchemist reacted too slowly to stop his Queen from abruptly dashing the flask upon the floor. A gasp escaped his lungs as the Alchemist saw the precious contents seep away into the cracks.
“Strick that recipe from your books and your memory, Alchemist. This is the end of it.”
“My Queen! Please, you don’t understand! Without that, his Majesty, the King, he…”
“No, Alchemist. It is you who does not understand. The King may never find that perfect vision he seeks, but he will keep trying, and in that expense of effort he will see more than any man ever does in many a lifetime.”
“My Queen! But he will never be content, and the hunger, the hunger will never leave him!”
A beatific, inscrutable smile graced the Queen’s lips.
“What better mark of a human, Alchemist?”
| They say that your priority changes when you discover that you're about to lose something. It could be someone you love, a treasured possession, even your life. The feeling of that impending loss will trigger a certain kind of panic, causing you in act in a certain kind of way. For me, it was the eventual loss of my vision.
It came during a routine eye check-up. Admittedly my eyes having been not feeling great for the past year, but I chalked it up to my increased OT and the frequent staring at the computer. Nothing serious that can't be solved with rest and a few eye drops.
The thing about your body, however, is that as you grow older, it becomes less nimble and more prone to problems. Just like a car. The longer you drive it, the more problems it would give you. Push it a little further and you may very well need to buy a new car.
When the doctor walked in with my results, his face was somber. "Mr Alex, I have some bad news for you." Those words will forever be etched on my mind. At first I refused to believe it. I was still young, I tried to argue. Surely there was something that he could do to remedy the situation. I visited numerous specialists to get a second opinion.
But they all said the same thing. There was little they can do for an eye that was subjected to so much strain. All the gaming at night and sitting close to my computer screen had taken their toll.
When I first told Amy, she was devastated. We had so much planned out. Our marriage, our house, our children. All of them had to take a backseat. Our future had suddenly became uncertain. Seeing her worried face, the tears that streamed down her face, I did what I thought was the correct move. I asked for a breakup.
She cried and pleaded for me not to do it, but to me, it felt like the noble thing to do. She doesn't deserve a man who is going blind, I told myself. I announced the breakup on Facebook for the whole world to see, before disappearing on the next flight out of the country. My eyes meant a lot to me, and the thought of losing them made me feel like I was losing my world.
I didn't care for anything longer, and for me then, I wanted to make full use of my eyes before they go blind. Doctors gave me a year, and during that year, I wanted to capture the perfect images with my eyes before my world goes dark forever. I wanted to remember all the colours and wonders that earth has to offer. And so I traveled.
I climbed the tallest mountains, galloped across the biggest plains, surfed the wildest waves and trekked the densest jungle during that one year. Other than an occasional phone call with my mum to let her know that I was still alive, I contacted no one during my time across the globe.
My eyes laid sight to the bluest of the oceans, the greenest of the jungles, the reddest of flowers and starriest of nights. I had never imagined the world that we lived in to be so beautiful, so full of colours and life outside of the cubicle that I had known so well. And all along as my eyes soaked in the sights, trying to capture the perfect image, I could feel them getting weaker and weaker.
The colours started to be less vibrant, replaced by a gradual darkening of my vision. The colours slowly gave way to grayness, before grayness started to slowly give away to nothingness. Life suddenly became duller for me, as the disease gradually robbed me of my vision. A sense of despair began to grab hold of me as I realized that there were still so many sights that I had not seen, so many places I've not been.
But as my condition worsened, I had not choice but to fly home. The realization that I will never see again dampened my feelings, as I struggled desperately to remember everything that I've seen. The waterfalls, the canyons, the stars, the mountains. But they all felt pale, together with my vision.
I felt a heartbroken at the end of the trip, that my vision had to give way before I could complete my journey. As I stepped out of the arrival hall, I felt a familiar voice call out my name. Amy was waiting for me, and she ran towards me, hugging me in a way that I have not felt in a really long time.
"I have waited so long for you," she said as her tears streamed down her cheeks, a tired smile adorned her face. And seeing her up close, her bright black eyes and her wide cute smile, barely visible from my now fading vision, I finally realized that the perfect image was not far from home after all.
-----------
/r/dori_tales |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | By his estimate, a full quarter of an hour had passed by the time the heavy wooden doors to the throne room swung open. The Royal Alchemist hastily pressed his forehead to the ground in obeisance, and counted the steps she took to get to the throne.
"You may rise. State your business, Alchemist."
The Queen's dulcet tones rippled through the expanse of the great hall. As the Alchemist rose, he struggled to keep the eagerness from his voice.
"My Queen, may the years fare you well. Blessed by your name, and let the fairness of your visage..."
"Speak freely, Alchemist. We are not in court, and the night wears upon me."
His hand unconsciously tightened around the flask by his side. "My Queen, I come with great tidings. I believe I have finally found the solution for his Majesty's ailment!"
A handmaiden conveyed the flask to her, and the doubt positively slaked off her words as she peered intently at the viscous green liquid swirling within.
“Alchemist, all the physicians near and far disagree as to the precise cause of the ailment befalling his Majesty. Yet, if there is one thing they can agree on, it is that there is no cure in sight. And now, you would have me believe you have proven them all wrong?”
The Alchemist shook his head doggedly. “My Queen, allow me to clarify. I said I found a solution, not a cure. I too believe that there is no way to reverse his Majesty’s failing eyesight, but there may yet be a way to placate him otherwise.”
He deftly retrieved a cloth bundle from within his robes, and gingerly laid out the contents on the granite floor. The fires in the brazier pots flickered, and cast an orange hue on the empty bottles at his feet.
“My Queen, scores of men we sacrificed, but we eventually succeeded in capturing the cries of the sirens which haunt the western coasts. The trick was to use these gossamer sunlight bottles! And that was the final, elusive ingredient we needed to concoct that potion in your hand.”
“And this would help his Majesty?”
“It may not restore his sight, my Queen, but it would… satisfy him. That potion, there is no desire it does not meet! His Majesty will see whatever it is that his heart truly desires, and with that, he will no longer be discontent with the blindness advancing upon him.”
As the seconds coalesced into moments, and as the moments congealed into periods, the Queen’s silence tightened around the Alchemist’s heart like a vise. Was it that she did not believe him? Did she doubt the effectiveness of the salve? Would he have to present as evidence the many apprentices he had tested the curative on, to show her just how the miracle worked?
An eternity passed before she spoke again. “Tell me, Alchemist, do you see these tapestries hanging around you?”
“I… Yes, my Queen. I do.”
“And you know the import of them?”
“Yes. These were each commissioned by his Majesty, to commemorate each spectacle as he encountered them, just in case they turned out to be the one perfect image he was seeking.”
The Queen sprung from her throne, animated by forces unseen, and strode to the leftmost tapestry. “This was the first one, the Forest of Swords. It boggles the mind still, does it not? How the weapons of every soldier who falls in battle, if not retrieved within a day, somehow vanishes and ends up in this Forest, draping like ripened fruits from the boughs of the towering trees. At night, they say, the weapons rattle as they welcome more to join their folds…”
Her hand lingered on the corners of the tapestry, lost in a sea of memories. As she ran the last threads through her fingers, she gracefully transitioned to the next tapestry.
“Or this one, the Glass Dunes of the Drobi. We travelled there the year after, when his Majesty’s vision continued to worsen and the hunger in him to see more of the world sharpened. Changing shapes every other day, I remember how the Glass Dunes sparkled in the fierce sun, reflecting a myriad of colors, outdoing even the most vivid of rainbows…”
“Or what about that one? The Everlasting Village of Westermire? An entire village of souls, condemned to live their last day in perpetuity? The Imperial Mages feared to unravel the raw magic which causes the Village to relive its final day over and over and over, just before the eruption of Mount Orrungus smothers it, and so we lucky ones get to stand outside that eddy of time, observing yet another of the many wonders this world offers…”
The Alchemist’s heart swelled with pride as the Queen picked up the flask again, and his mind raced with the glories which lay ahead. Why, he would always be known as the one to bring peace to the King, the one who managed to create an experience to trump them all.
What would the King see once the liquid found its way into his veins? What manner of tapestry would he commission? Would he even be able to find the words to convey the sights he would see?
Ensconced in his reverie, the Alchemist reacted too slowly to stop his Queen from abruptly dashing the flask upon the floor. A gasp escaped his lungs as the Alchemist saw the precious contents seep away into the cracks.
“Strick that recipe from your books and your memory, Alchemist. This is the end of it.”
“My Queen! Please, you don’t understand! Without that, his Majesty, the King, he…”
“No, Alchemist. It is you who does not understand. The King may never find that perfect vision he seeks, but he will keep trying, and in that expense of effort he will see more than any man ever does in many a lifetime.”
“My Queen! But he will never be content, and the hunger, the hunger will never leave him!”
A beatific, inscrutable smile graced the Queen’s lips.
“What better mark of a human, Alchemist?”
| I remember her face. It was the last clear thing I saw- her face and the flash of high beam headlights swerving in from a blind turn. As my body jolted towards the windshield I flung my arms to reach out to her. She was doing the same, her face had gone gaunt, her eyes were wide. As if fearing not for her death, but of losing her life with me.
She was declared dead on arrival. When I saw her in her casket I could barely recognize her. Darkness had crept into my vision. I moved my fingers across her face- tracing the beautiful round contours of her cheeks, marred with slashes and cuts now. Nothing can scar a thing of such beauty, I thought. Even in death, she was the microcosm of everything I desired.
----
I was waiting at the hallway of another hospital when I stood up, recognizing the sound of her footsteps.
"You still want it?"
"Yes," I said.
"I was about to drop out after what happened, thinking you'd..."
"I'm not backing out," I interrupted, almost snapping.
I could hear her chewing on a piece of nicotine gum as she probably sized me up for bullshit. We had convinced her to quit smoking for the gestation period.
"It is the last thing that remains of her." I said, calmer now.
"Doctor says its two weeks due. All's good and healthy."
We slowly made our way towards the exit, my walking stick tapping ahead rhythmically.
"She was a good woman. Kind. I never thought I'd do IVF, but when she told me about her miscarriage my heart melted. There was a sincerity about her. She even helped me out with my addiction."
I stopped. I heard her stop ahead of me and turn.
"Can I feel it?"
She hesitated for a bit, then she pulled her shirt up to her ribs and took my hands, slowly navigating it across her belly.
"In a few you day's you'll see him," she said.
"I hope I can," I said. I could barely make out my hand as it moved over her tummy. |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | He politely asks the doctor to leave the room. When he is alone he begins to notice everything in a greater light: the blood pressure machine, the linen on the hospital bed. He looks at his hands and marvels at how wrinkly they've become over his 51 years, at how he used to have smooth feminine fingers before he'd taken up gardening as a hobby many years ago.
His house is empty and cold when he takes a final look at it 3 weeks later. He has sold everything, even his grandmother's 200 year old china set. He reluctantly had to let go of it, but what was the point of keeping it if he could never see its delicate and detailed designs, never caress the visual brilliance with his eyes?
He wants to travel. To as many places as possible and in such a limited time. The doctor said he'll lose sight completely five months after he sets out for his great adventure.
He does carry something though: his garden fork, which he has no idea why he is carrying. Maybe he thinks it'll give him a solid reminder of who he is and what he's leaving behind in the small town he was born. He'd never found love in it - love, it seemed, was something for other, more fortunate people.
He first goes to Paris, because he's heard so much good about it. He indulges in French cuisine and takes a trip down the River Seine. In Norway, he is astounded by the tranquility and majesty of the fjords. By this time, as he stays in a cold barn on a lonely mountain, eating heavily boiled fish, his vision is slowing receding, like day rolling quietly into night. But he is determined. He knows he hasn't found what he is looking for.
In India he chokes on the spicy food, doesn't notice immediately, from the corner of his eye, the clothes vendors walking beside him, trying to bargain. In Japan, he accidentally knocks down a vase in an ancient temple and apologizes profusely and what makes the tears finally roll out of his eyes is the sympathy and understanding in the assistant tour guide's voice.
"Eye problem?" the guide asks.
"Yes," he chokes back.
In Zimbabwe, after witnessing the thunder of the Victoria Falls and as he is walking back to his hotel, he notices a local boy carrying a big pot containing an orchid. The boy is struggling, but gracefully, trying to hide it, and the man offers to help him carry it. The boy is going home and both of them lift opposite ends of the pot, walking down streets with neat square houses.
When they arrive, his mother greets them both. She offers to make lunch and the man relishes the earthiness of the traditional flavors. As they sit at the table, he steals glances at the woman, and from what he can make out from his poor vision, he sees that her chin is pointed, her hair is short and coily and the lashes that gilded her eyes were long. He offers to make a few healthy adjustments to the orchid's soil, bringing out his garden fork, and the woman laughs.
They make love two months later, after he comes back from home affairs to renew his stay in the country. It is not his first time having sex, but it reminds him of it, of the thrill and the anxiety. Afterwards they lie holding each other, and he tells her, heart beating, of his illness. She tells him she already knew and that it didn't change anything. She asks him to stay with her. He tells her to come away with him, her and her son.
He still has to visit Copacabanna beach in Brazil. They go together, as a family of three. They go at sunset, when the beach has fewer people. The boy wanders away to play with other children. The man wades in the clear waters with the woman and then kneels in the water. He can't see her very clearly but he pleads with his eyes to see her and, magically, mysteriously, they open up, only for that moment. She kneels down with him in the water and he can see each and every detail as she smiles and kisses his forehead, her face awash with the light of the setting sun. Then, as his eyes close up and, finally, plunge him into a complete and impenetrable darkness, the man sighs a sigh of accomplishment.
| Eric sat in the passenger seat of his friend Darrel's Jeep. He had stopped driving himself weeks ago when he pulled out in front of a car he should have seen.
He watched the pine trees glide by in a blur of green as the Jeep sped down the highway. They had been driving for the past six hours toward their destination. There hadn't been much conversation during the drive, but neither man minded that much.
Darrel turned the Jeep down a small dirt road. A recent rain had washed out most of the road and it became a sluggish process of creeping around large holes in the ground and pits of mud.
"Almost there," Darrel said steering around a rut that threatened to break the axle.
Eric nodded and kept his eyes open. He didn't want to miss a second of anything. His eyes darted from tree to rock then to a small bird that took flight. He tried to remember every detail, every flash of green and smudge of brown. His vision had deteriorated to the point where it was like looking through a drinking straw.
The trail ended in a small clearing large enough for a car to turn around in. Darrel threw the car in park and hopped out. He grabbed their packs out of the back and met Eric at his door.
"Ready?"
Eric nodded, stepped out of the vehicle and threw his pack over his shoulders. The small hiking trail was slowly being overtaken by nature. Thick roots spread across the trail threatening to trip Eric with every step he took. After a few stumbles the frustration began to build. He swallowed tears and shook his head angrily.
"It's all good man, here," Darrel said tying a rope around his waist then connecting it to the strap of Eric's backpack. Eric grabbed the back of Darrel's pack and they set out again.
"How much time do we have?" Eric asked.
"Enough, we'll get there."
Sweat rolled down Eric's face as the sun's rays snuck through the canopy above.
*How could I have taken all of this for granted?*
A tear rolled down his cheek and he angrily swept it away. Regardless of how long he'd known Darrel he didn't want to cry in front of the man.
The trail began a steady incline and the forest began to fade behind them as they hiked higher up the mountain. The sun was beginning to it's descent as the men struggled.
"We're not going to make it," Eric said squinting at the dying light.
"Yes we will!" Darrel said stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other.
Both men were breathing heavily, sweat ran down in their bodies in thick rivulets.
"Only a few more feet Eric!" Darrel said triumphantly as he pulled himself up onto a large flat rock that created a shelf on the side of the mountain. He extended a hand and pulled Eric the rest of the way up. They collapsed onto the rock and looked out over the sea of green. The base of the sun had just hit the top of the trees.
"Thank you Darrel."
Tears rolled freely down Eric's cheeks as he watched the sun set for the final time.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | By his estimate, a full quarter of an hour had passed by the time the heavy wooden doors to the throne room swung open. The Royal Alchemist hastily pressed his forehead to the ground in obeisance, and counted the steps she took to get to the throne.
"You may rise. State your business, Alchemist."
The Queen's dulcet tones rippled through the expanse of the great hall. As the Alchemist rose, he struggled to keep the eagerness from his voice.
"My Queen, may the years fare you well. Blessed by your name, and let the fairness of your visage..."
"Speak freely, Alchemist. We are not in court, and the night wears upon me."
His hand unconsciously tightened around the flask by his side. "My Queen, I come with great tidings. I believe I have finally found the solution for his Majesty's ailment!"
A handmaiden conveyed the flask to her, and the doubt positively slaked off her words as she peered intently at the viscous green liquid swirling within.
“Alchemist, all the physicians near and far disagree as to the precise cause of the ailment befalling his Majesty. Yet, if there is one thing they can agree on, it is that there is no cure in sight. And now, you would have me believe you have proven them all wrong?”
The Alchemist shook his head doggedly. “My Queen, allow me to clarify. I said I found a solution, not a cure. I too believe that there is no way to reverse his Majesty’s failing eyesight, but there may yet be a way to placate him otherwise.”
He deftly retrieved a cloth bundle from within his robes, and gingerly laid out the contents on the granite floor. The fires in the brazier pots flickered, and cast an orange hue on the empty bottles at his feet.
“My Queen, scores of men we sacrificed, but we eventually succeeded in capturing the cries of the sirens which haunt the western coasts. The trick was to use these gossamer sunlight bottles! And that was the final, elusive ingredient we needed to concoct that potion in your hand.”
“And this would help his Majesty?”
“It may not restore his sight, my Queen, but it would… satisfy him. That potion, there is no desire it does not meet! His Majesty will see whatever it is that his heart truly desires, and with that, he will no longer be discontent with the blindness advancing upon him.”
As the seconds coalesced into moments, and as the moments congealed into periods, the Queen’s silence tightened around the Alchemist’s heart like a vise. Was it that she did not believe him? Did she doubt the effectiveness of the salve? Would he have to present as evidence the many apprentices he had tested the curative on, to show her just how the miracle worked?
An eternity passed before she spoke again. “Tell me, Alchemist, do you see these tapestries hanging around you?”
“I… Yes, my Queen. I do.”
“And you know the import of them?”
“Yes. These were each commissioned by his Majesty, to commemorate each spectacle as he encountered them, just in case they turned out to be the one perfect image he was seeking.”
The Queen sprung from her throne, animated by forces unseen, and strode to the leftmost tapestry. “This was the first one, the Forest of Swords. It boggles the mind still, does it not? How the weapons of every soldier who falls in battle, if not retrieved within a day, somehow vanishes and ends up in this Forest, draping like ripened fruits from the boughs of the towering trees. At night, they say, the weapons rattle as they welcome more to join their folds…”
Her hand lingered on the corners of the tapestry, lost in a sea of memories. As she ran the last threads through her fingers, she gracefully transitioned to the next tapestry.
“Or this one, the Glass Dunes of the Drobi. We travelled there the year after, when his Majesty’s vision continued to worsen and the hunger in him to see more of the world sharpened. Changing shapes every other day, I remember how the Glass Dunes sparkled in the fierce sun, reflecting a myriad of colors, outdoing even the most vivid of rainbows…”
“Or what about that one? The Everlasting Village of Westermire? An entire village of souls, condemned to live their last day in perpetuity? The Imperial Mages feared to unravel the raw magic which causes the Village to relive its final day over and over and over, just before the eruption of Mount Orrungus smothers it, and so we lucky ones get to stand outside that eddy of time, observing yet another of the many wonders this world offers…”
The Alchemist’s heart swelled with pride as the Queen picked up the flask again, and his mind raced with the glories which lay ahead. Why, he would always be known as the one to bring peace to the King, the one who managed to create an experience to trump them all.
What would the King see once the liquid found its way into his veins? What manner of tapestry would he commission? Would he even be able to find the words to convey the sights he would see?
Ensconced in his reverie, the Alchemist reacted too slowly to stop his Queen from abruptly dashing the flask upon the floor. A gasp escaped his lungs as the Alchemist saw the precious contents seep away into the cracks.
“Strick that recipe from your books and your memory, Alchemist. This is the end of it.”
“My Queen! Please, you don’t understand! Without that, his Majesty, the King, he…”
“No, Alchemist. It is you who does not understand. The King may never find that perfect vision he seeks, but he will keep trying, and in that expense of effort he will see more than any man ever does in many a lifetime.”
“My Queen! But he will never be content, and the hunger, the hunger will never leave him!”
A beatific, inscrutable smile graced the Queen’s lips.
“What better mark of a human, Alchemist?”
| Eric sat in the passenger seat of his friend Darrel's Jeep. He had stopped driving himself weeks ago when he pulled out in front of a car he should have seen.
He watched the pine trees glide by in a blur of green as the Jeep sped down the highway. They had been driving for the past six hours toward their destination. There hadn't been much conversation during the drive, but neither man minded that much.
Darrel turned the Jeep down a small dirt road. A recent rain had washed out most of the road and it became a sluggish process of creeping around large holes in the ground and pits of mud.
"Almost there," Darrel said steering around a rut that threatened to break the axle.
Eric nodded and kept his eyes open. He didn't want to miss a second of anything. His eyes darted from tree to rock then to a small bird that took flight. He tried to remember every detail, every flash of green and smudge of brown. His vision had deteriorated to the point where it was like looking through a drinking straw.
The trail ended in a small clearing large enough for a car to turn around in. Darrel threw the car in park and hopped out. He grabbed their packs out of the back and met Eric at his door.
"Ready?"
Eric nodded, stepped out of the vehicle and threw his pack over his shoulders. The small hiking trail was slowly being overtaken by nature. Thick roots spread across the trail threatening to trip Eric with every step he took. After a few stumbles the frustration began to build. He swallowed tears and shook his head angrily.
"It's all good man, here," Darrel said tying a rope around his waist then connecting it to the strap of Eric's backpack. Eric grabbed the back of Darrel's pack and they set out again.
"How much time do we have?" Eric asked.
"Enough, we'll get there."
Sweat rolled down Eric's face as the sun's rays snuck through the canopy above.
*How could I have taken all of this for granted?*
A tear rolled down his cheek and he angrily swept it away. Regardless of how long he'd known Darrel he didn't want to cry in front of the man.
The trail began a steady incline and the forest began to fade behind them as they hiked higher up the mountain. The sun was beginning to it's descent as the men struggled.
"We're not going to make it," Eric said squinting at the dying light.
"Yes we will!" Darrel said stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other.
Both men were breathing heavily, sweat ran down in their bodies in thick rivulets.
"Only a few more feet Eric!" Darrel said triumphantly as he pulled himself up onto a large flat rock that created a shelf on the side of the mountain. He extended a hand and pulled Eric the rest of the way up. They collapsed onto the rock and looked out over the sea of green. The base of the sun had just hit the top of the trees.
"Thank you Darrel."
Tears rolled freely down Eric's cheeks as he watched the sun set for the final time.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I wake up to the ever growing darkness. I sit up and reach out for my cane; my arms are stretched forward and I move them out in slow arcs, as if they are the shining beams from a lighthouse. To me that's almost what they are now: warning beacons protecting a dilapidated vessel from the rocks hidden below. I find my cane and clutch it tightly.
I see very little these days -- perhaps no more than a pin prick sized tunnel. And every morning I wake to find that the tunnel edges have been squeezed that little bit tighter together. My sight will soon be gone, Mildred. Just like you.
Showering is out of the question since my fall, so I wash with a flannel and a bar of soap. It smells of lavender. I clean my teeth and try to examine myself in the mirror, moving my head around rather than my eyes. A blurred vision of a withered, gray haired man looks back at me. *That can't be me. How could I have gotten so damn old? It was only a few years ago I was walking down the aisle with you.*
Some days I wish it was my heart giving up.
I stumble down the stairs and make it safely to the bottom -- more through luck than judgement. I will have to sleep downstairs soon, or else Christian will no doubt move me into a home. But I am not *that* old yet. *Am I?*
I often wonder what my last sight will be; the final image burned into my eyes and framed forever in my mind. I wonder if it will bring me comfort, when my only view is that of the starless night. Each evening now, I stare at a picture of *you* before bed, trying to lock in the image of the most beautiful woman I've ever seen; an image that I am all too quickly forgetting. When I look at the photo, I think that if I concentrate hard enough, that maybe when I wake I'll still remember your dusty brown hair and big green eyes.
*Or were they blue?*
I hold my finger under the tap. I will have to give up bacon; I burn myself too often now -- but the smell reminds me of better times, so I'm reluctant. I think I hear you for a moment, asking if I would like a cup of tea. It's too much, and I retreat to the sofa as warm tears trickle down the wrinkled passages on my face. They're not tears of sadness, it's just... I don't remember you as often these days, and it's almost overwhelming when a moment of such *clarity* comes through.
The day is slow. I argue with the radio, and try to watch some TV, but it is a tiny, blurred mess and it upsets me. I make some toast.
There is a moment of panic, when I think that *this is it* -- the darkness -- that my sight is going and I don't have a photo of you near. But I calm, eventually, when I realise the time and know that it's only the sun packing up for the night.
The doorbell rings. I don't answer it. I don't need or want any salesmen telling me how I *should* be living. I don't want the last sight I see to be their smug faces; that patronising smile they give to old men who don't even understand what they are buying. But the ringing is persistent, and I hear yelling now. I decide to answer it just to tell them to leave me the hell alone. With my cane in hand, I slowly make my way towards the door.
It's Christian, and he's brought William and Harriet. They run up to me and hug me, and I hear them shout '*granddad*'. The tears return. Christian takes my hand and pulls me into the sitting room. We talk for a while, and I find myself smiling. Muscles around my mouth that I haven't used in a long time quickly begin aching. But I don't mind.
My grandchildren sit on my knee and ask for a story. I tell them about you, sweetheart. How we met, and how well you danced.
Halfway through, I notice that it's becoming darker again. I don't have the same gut-wrenching feeling I did before. I pull my grandchildren closer and look at their tiny, cherub-like faces one last time. Then, the light blinks out for good.
Christian asks me to move in with them. He doesn't hear the first *yes* through the sobbing, so I repeat it, and he hugs me. I feel the warmth of *his* tears on my cheek.
I can no longer see, Mildred. But I have them, and I have you. I still have light.
---
Thank you for reading. You can find more of my stories on /r/nickofnight | Eric sat in the passenger seat of his friend Darrel's Jeep. He had stopped driving himself weeks ago when he pulled out in front of a car he should have seen.
He watched the pine trees glide by in a blur of green as the Jeep sped down the highway. They had been driving for the past six hours toward their destination. There hadn't been much conversation during the drive, but neither man minded that much.
Darrel turned the Jeep down a small dirt road. A recent rain had washed out most of the road and it became a sluggish process of creeping around large holes in the ground and pits of mud.
"Almost there," Darrel said steering around a rut that threatened to break the axle.
Eric nodded and kept his eyes open. He didn't want to miss a second of anything. His eyes darted from tree to rock then to a small bird that took flight. He tried to remember every detail, every flash of green and smudge of brown. His vision had deteriorated to the point where it was like looking through a drinking straw.
The trail ended in a small clearing large enough for a car to turn around in. Darrel threw the car in park and hopped out. He grabbed their packs out of the back and met Eric at his door.
"Ready?"
Eric nodded, stepped out of the vehicle and threw his pack over his shoulders. The small hiking trail was slowly being overtaken by nature. Thick roots spread across the trail threatening to trip Eric with every step he took. After a few stumbles the frustration began to build. He swallowed tears and shook his head angrily.
"It's all good man, here," Darrel said tying a rope around his waist then connecting it to the strap of Eric's backpack. Eric grabbed the back of Darrel's pack and they set out again.
"How much time do we have?" Eric asked.
"Enough, we'll get there."
Sweat rolled down Eric's face as the sun's rays snuck through the canopy above.
*How could I have taken all of this for granted?*
A tear rolled down his cheek and he angrily swept it away. Regardless of how long he'd known Darrel he didn't want to cry in front of the man.
The trail began a steady incline and the forest began to fade behind them as they hiked higher up the mountain. The sun was beginning to it's descent as the men struggled.
"We're not going to make it," Eric said squinting at the dying light.
"Yes we will!" Darrel said stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other.
Both men were breathing heavily, sweat ran down in their bodies in thick rivulets.
"Only a few more feet Eric!" Darrel said triumphantly as he pulled himself up onto a large flat rock that created a shelf on the side of the mountain. He extended a hand and pulled Eric the rest of the way up. They collapsed onto the rock and looked out over the sea of green. The base of the sun had just hit the top of the trees.
"Thank you Darrel."
Tears rolled freely down Eric's cheeks as he watched the sun set for the final time.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! |
|
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | By his estimate, a full quarter of an hour had passed by the time the heavy wooden doors to the throne room swung open. The Royal Alchemist hastily pressed his forehead to the ground in obeisance, and counted the steps she took to get to the throne.
"You may rise. State your business, Alchemist."
The Queen's dulcet tones rippled through the expanse of the great hall. As the Alchemist rose, he struggled to keep the eagerness from his voice.
"My Queen, may the years fare you well. Blessed by your name, and let the fairness of your visage..."
"Speak freely, Alchemist. We are not in court, and the night wears upon me."
His hand unconsciously tightened around the flask by his side. "My Queen, I come with great tidings. I believe I have finally found the solution for his Majesty's ailment!"
A handmaiden conveyed the flask to her, and the doubt positively slaked off her words as she peered intently at the viscous green liquid swirling within.
“Alchemist, all the physicians near and far disagree as to the precise cause of the ailment befalling his Majesty. Yet, if there is one thing they can agree on, it is that there is no cure in sight. And now, you would have me believe you have proven them all wrong?”
The Alchemist shook his head doggedly. “My Queen, allow me to clarify. I said I found a solution, not a cure. I too believe that there is no way to reverse his Majesty’s failing eyesight, but there may yet be a way to placate him otherwise.”
He deftly retrieved a cloth bundle from within his robes, and gingerly laid out the contents on the granite floor. The fires in the brazier pots flickered, and cast an orange hue on the empty bottles at his feet.
“My Queen, scores of men we sacrificed, but we eventually succeeded in capturing the cries of the sirens which haunt the western coasts. The trick was to use these gossamer sunlight bottles! And that was the final, elusive ingredient we needed to concoct that potion in your hand.”
“And this would help his Majesty?”
“It may not restore his sight, my Queen, but it would… satisfy him. That potion, there is no desire it does not meet! His Majesty will see whatever it is that his heart truly desires, and with that, he will no longer be discontent with the blindness advancing upon him.”
As the seconds coalesced into moments, and as the moments congealed into periods, the Queen’s silence tightened around the Alchemist’s heart like a vise. Was it that she did not believe him? Did she doubt the effectiveness of the salve? Would he have to present as evidence the many apprentices he had tested the curative on, to show her just how the miracle worked?
An eternity passed before she spoke again. “Tell me, Alchemist, do you see these tapestries hanging around you?”
“I… Yes, my Queen. I do.”
“And you know the import of them?”
“Yes. These were each commissioned by his Majesty, to commemorate each spectacle as he encountered them, just in case they turned out to be the one perfect image he was seeking.”
The Queen sprung from her throne, animated by forces unseen, and strode to the leftmost tapestry. “This was the first one, the Forest of Swords. It boggles the mind still, does it not? How the weapons of every soldier who falls in battle, if not retrieved within a day, somehow vanishes and ends up in this Forest, draping like ripened fruits from the boughs of the towering trees. At night, they say, the weapons rattle as they welcome more to join their folds…”
Her hand lingered on the corners of the tapestry, lost in a sea of memories. As she ran the last threads through her fingers, she gracefully transitioned to the next tapestry.
“Or this one, the Glass Dunes of the Drobi. We travelled there the year after, when his Majesty’s vision continued to worsen and the hunger in him to see more of the world sharpened. Changing shapes every other day, I remember how the Glass Dunes sparkled in the fierce sun, reflecting a myriad of colors, outdoing even the most vivid of rainbows…”
“Or what about that one? The Everlasting Village of Westermire? An entire village of souls, condemned to live their last day in perpetuity? The Imperial Mages feared to unravel the raw magic which causes the Village to relive its final day over and over and over, just before the eruption of Mount Orrungus smothers it, and so we lucky ones get to stand outside that eddy of time, observing yet another of the many wonders this world offers…”
The Alchemist’s heart swelled with pride as the Queen picked up the flask again, and his mind raced with the glories which lay ahead. Why, he would always be known as the one to bring peace to the King, the one who managed to create an experience to trump them all.
What would the King see once the liquid found its way into his veins? What manner of tapestry would he commission? Would he even be able to find the words to convey the sights he would see?
Ensconced in his reverie, the Alchemist reacted too slowly to stop his Queen from abruptly dashing the flask upon the floor. A gasp escaped his lungs as the Alchemist saw the precious contents seep away into the cracks.
“Strick that recipe from your books and your memory, Alchemist. This is the end of it.”
“My Queen! Please, you don’t understand! Without that, his Majesty, the King, he…”
“No, Alchemist. It is you who does not understand. The King may never find that perfect vision he seeks, but he will keep trying, and in that expense of effort he will see more than any man ever does in many a lifetime.”
“My Queen! But he will never be content, and the hunger, the hunger will never leave him!”
A beatific, inscrutable smile graced the Queen’s lips.
“What better mark of a human, Alchemist?”
| He politely asks the doctor to leave the room. When he is alone he begins to notice everything in a greater light: the blood pressure machine, the linen on the hospital bed. He looks at his hands and marvels at how wrinkly they've become over his 51 years, at how he used to have smooth feminine fingers before he'd taken up gardening as a hobby many years ago.
His house is empty and cold when he takes a final look at it 3 weeks later. He has sold everything, even his grandmother's 200 year old china set. He reluctantly had to let go of it, but what was the point of keeping it if he could never see its delicate and detailed designs, never caress the visual brilliance with his eyes?
He wants to travel. To as many places as possible and in such a limited time. The doctor said he'll lose sight completely five months after he sets out for his great adventure.
He does carry something though: his garden fork, which he has no idea why he is carrying. Maybe he thinks it'll give him a solid reminder of who he is and what he's leaving behind in the small town he was born. He'd never found love in it - love, it seemed, was something for other, more fortunate people.
He first goes to Paris, because he's heard so much good about it. He indulges in French cuisine and takes a trip down the River Seine. In Norway, he is astounded by the tranquility and majesty of the fjords. By this time, as he stays in a cold barn on a lonely mountain, eating heavily boiled fish, his vision is slowing receding, like day rolling quietly into night. But he is determined. He knows he hasn't found what he is looking for.
In India he chokes on the spicy food, doesn't notice immediately, from the corner of his eye, the clothes vendors walking beside him, trying to bargain. In Japan, he accidentally knocks down a vase in an ancient temple and apologizes profusely and what makes the tears finally roll out of his eyes is the sympathy and understanding in the assistant tour guide's voice.
"Eye problem?" the guide asks.
"Yes," he chokes back.
In Zimbabwe, after witnessing the thunder of the Victoria Falls and as he is walking back to his hotel, he notices a local boy carrying a big pot containing an orchid. The boy is struggling, but gracefully, trying to hide it, and the man offers to help him carry it. The boy is going home and both of them lift opposite ends of the pot, walking down streets with neat square houses.
When they arrive, his mother greets them both. She offers to make lunch and the man relishes the earthiness of the traditional flavors. As they sit at the table, he steals glances at the woman, and from what he can make out from his poor vision, he sees that her chin is pointed, her hair is short and coily and the lashes that gilded her eyes were long. He offers to make a few healthy adjustments to the orchid's soil, bringing out his garden fork, and the woman laughs.
They make love two months later, after he comes back from home affairs to renew his stay in the country. It is not his first time having sex, but it reminds him of it, of the thrill and the anxiety. Afterwards they lie holding each other, and he tells her, heart beating, of his illness. She tells him she already knew and that it didn't change anything. She asks him to stay with her. He tells her to come away with him, her and her son.
He still has to visit Copacabanna beach in Brazil. They go together, as a family of three. They go at sunset, when the beach has fewer people. The boy wanders away to play with other children. The man wades in the clear waters with the woman and then kneels in the water. He can't see her very clearly but he pleads with his eyes to see her and, magically, mysteriously, they open up, only for that moment. She kneels down with him in the water and he can see each and every detail as she smiles and kisses his forehead, her face awash with the light of the setting sun. Then, as his eyes close up and, finally, plunge him into a complete and impenetrable darkness, the man sighs a sigh of accomplishment.
|
|
Any war.
WWII, the Civil war, the Cold war, the Korean war, anything. | [WP] Summarize a well-known war as if it was a barfight between countries. | America is sitting at the bar, minding its own business, when one of Afghanistan's roommates comes over and kicks it in the nuts.
America falls over in pain, swearing at Afghanistan and questioning why the fuck it lets these dicks stay there.
Afghanistan tells America it will let anyone stay there it damn well pleases, and it's none of America's goddamn business since all America does is beat up its friends.
France, Germany, and the UK look up from their drinks across the bar at the growing commotion.
America tells Afghanistan it should stop protecting its roommates and let it and them settle this like men.
The UK announces it supports the US.
Afghanistan reiterates that it will be friends with whoever it wants.
America punches Afghanistan and knocks it out stone-cold. A few of its roommates also get beaten up but most flee the bar.
America looks at Iraq.
Iraq asks what it did this time.
America tells it that it's friends with Afghanistan, which makes it the enemy. America then loudly accuses Iraq of having a gun on it.
Iraq furiously denies these charges, and says it just wants to enjoy its drink in peace.
Germany and France look up from their drinks again, now more concerned.
America asks the barman to search Iraq for the gun. Iraq reluctantly consents to this. The barman finds nothing.
America insists that the gun must be well hidden, and punches Iraq in the face. Iraq staggers but catches itself against the bar.
America gestures to the UK, Germany and France to help it deal with this dangerous criminal.
Germany and France say it's not their business, and return to their drinks. The UK reluctantly joins in, and gives Iraq an uppercut to the stomach.
America finishes Iraq off with a right hook to the jaw and declares Mission Accomplished.
Several hours later, Afghanistan's roommates and a handful of their friends storm into the bar, announcing that they've taken over Iraq's and Syria's houses and that America and its friends can all go fuck themselves. | At either end of a large bar two men sat. Each nursed their pints and went about their business until one man saw that the other man had left his wallet on the table. Despite that wallet sitting right beside the other mans pint, and it being metres away from the first man, the first man decided to come over and take it because he was a fat, greedy, theiving bastard. And there you have the story of the Falklands War. |
Any war.
WWII, the Civil war, the Cold war, the Korean war, anything. | [WP] Summarize a well-known war as if it was a barfight between countries. | As always, it all begins when somebody drinks too much.
"None of you understand my struggle," people can't tell if he's slurring the words or if it's just his accent. "Four and a half fucking years of struggle against lies, stupidity and cowardice."
"Fuck is 'e on about?" an elderly gentleman sipping sherry asks a younger man drinking beer across from him. The younger man shrugs. "Don't know, don't care, Dad."
"You know, when I encountered the Jew in Vienna, I was nice to him," the drunken lecture continued. A few ears turned to the speaker at the possibility of this anti-semitic rant. "Ja! I was nice to him! And how does he repay me? He bleeds me dry. I am a shadow of my former self." He takes a very long swig before continuing. "Mark my words, *untermenschen*, he will do the same to you." His flourish accidentally tips over a glass belonging to a lone man brooding at the very edge of the bar.
"Oi, oi," the old man nudges another of the patrons at the bar. "Best get the sod home sharpish."
"Kurwa," the small man nods, and sets his drink down before walking slowly to the drunk preacher. Barely ten paces away, the lone brooding man has stood up and is facing the drunkard, their noses inches away.
"Excusez moi."
"Ja?"
"You have spilled my drink. I would like you to replace it."
Tense seconds passed. The drunkard leans in to the other man's face. "You...you are one of them, bleeding me dry. You are nothing now. I could take you, you know."
"Try it, pig."
"Hey, hey Deutsche! Deutsche. Come on, let's go home."
And then it began.
The drunk Deutsche misunderstood the small man's hand on his shoulder as an attack. "DON'T YOU TOUCH ME WITH YOUR FILTHY MONGREL HANDS!" he backhands the man, who is completely unprepared. Angrily and with a speed belying his size, Deutsche jumps onto him and rains down blows upon his face.
The old man and the tall brooding man both jumped into action. Both tried to separate the big man from the smaller one, beaten to a bloody pulp by the drunkard's large meaty fists, both shouting at him in their respective accents to stop this madness. The small man's hands went limp on the floor.
"Arretez! Arretez, you maniac!"
"Stop it, Christ, you're killing the poor lad!"
But the large man did not stop. Annoyed by the interference, and sensing no more resistance from his first target, Deutsche turns his attention to the brooder - by roughly elbowing him in the stomach. Standing up, hitting his face with one, two solid punches, he grabs the tall man by the waist and throws him into a table at which a few other patrons were sitting. There was no reasoning with him now. "BLITZKRIEG!" He shouted, and began to pummel everything in sight - but paid special attention to the tall man, now curled up defensively trying to avoid the worst of the big man's blows. Soon there was none who would stand against him but the old man.
"Back off," Deutsche snarled, "I don't want to fight you."
"Too late for that, mate...By Jingo, someones' gotta stop you," the old man barely managed to finish his sentence before Deutsche charged him, almost seeming to fly as he leaped across the room. Both collapsed to the floor, the big man on top, raining blows like bombs from the sky.
"Son," the old man cried, almost pathetically, "Son, help me!"
But the big man he was drinking with was gone. The old man used to get around a lot, however, as a few of his other sons seated at the other end of the room stood up to defend their father. Before they could make it, however, each of them felt a large, meaty finger tap their shoulders in quick succession.
"Mi scusi, amico," was the last thing they heard before they were knocked down. Fists the size of trains rained down on them, knocking them down for the count before they could even move. A large, boisterous but short man grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe let your padre fight his own battles, si? Bene! I'm glad you agree."
Deutsche raised his eyebrow at the fat man, who laughed. "I happen to agree with you. You and me, we are alike, no? Too long have these bastardi bled us dry. Now it is our time."
Meanwhile, the big beer drinking man, the largest of the old man's sons, had left his table to try and break up a minor brawl at the other end of the bar. Several patrons were already beaten bloody. One stood tall over the other one, demanding loudly that his spilled drink be paid for.
"Hey," the beer man said, distracting the attacker long enough for his opponent to crawl away. "It's not worth it. Let it go."
The attacker, a man who normally kept to himself, stared down the old man's son with bloodlust in his eyes, his face framed with long black hair normally kept tied in a bun atop his head. Clearly, the big man thought, things are not normal over here.
"Who are you, gaijin," the black haired man spat, "to meddle in my affairs? Go away, and I will not harm you."
"Back away, Tojo," the big man snarled, "And we all go home in one piece."
Tojo smiled. "You can't stay here forever, Little Boy. Your father is in grave peril. Soon you will be, too. And when your back is turned?" He cracked his knuckles in the big man's face. "Banzai."
It was at this point that the bartender, a small, mousy man, gathered enough of his courage to speak up. "Hey, hey, everybody calm down. Deutsche, you started this, you can still stop it. If you just back away-"
"Nein," Deutsche hissed. "I've been paying for your drinks for far too long."
"Deutsche, please listen to reason!"
"NEIN! No longer will the Ubermensch be held back. We will take our rightful place at the top of the food chain...when we cleanse the impure." He stood, panting and gasping. The entire bar stared at him, a blood covered madman whose lust for power was only growing and growing.
Deutsche stepped toward the tall man, the one that had opposed him before, and grabbed him screaming by the hair towards the kitchens. The bartender could only cower in fear. Deutsche threw the tall man to the floor and fired up the ovens.
"This is the only way," he snarled, eyes wide, the alcohol no longer holding the insane beast in check. "this is the only way to ensure our race survives the onslaught of the untermenschen."
"What are you doing? Stop!" The old man cried ineffectually. Deutsche ignored him, but paused when a large shadow loomed over him.
"That is enough, tovarisch." The shadow belonged to a giant, his face covered in a large matte of tangled beard. "You are going too far."
"And you," Deutsche snarled, unperturbed by the giant's size. "did not go far enough. I thought you hated them, and their tyranny. What would Marx do, hmmm?"
"Not this, tovarisch," the giant shook his head. "And besides, you are simply another tyrant to overthrow. Best you stop now, or I go all Bolshevik on you."
Deutsche smirked. "You can try." Without warning, he stuck the tall man's hand inside the oven. For a short moment, nothing was heard but the screams of the tall man and Deutsche's insane laughter.
And then it was chaos.
The giant roared, "URAAA!" and tackled Deutsche, who fought ferociously despite being half the giant's size. Deutsche's portly ally cackled and began attacking the giant. The old man and the tall man helped each other up and pulled Deutsche off the giant, raining blows on him as he had done to them before, fists landing in between cries of "Enculer, Fils de putre!" and "Fucking cunt, fucking CUNT!" Meanwhile Tojo, at the other end of the bar, took advantage of the chaos to brutally subdue and beat bloody all of his former drinking buddies, screaming 'BANZAI!' at the top of his lungs. At the centre was poor Little Boy, desperately trying to simultaneously help his allies and stop the aggression.
Tojo saw an opportunity, one that could turn the tide of the brawl in his and his allies' favor. Breaking a bottle, Tojo charged and stabbed Little Boy in the back. He screamed, his cry of anguish and pain echoing around the room. Little Boy turned, shocked at first, then his eyes slowly filling with anger.
"So that's how it is? Fine," he snarled, and tried to make his way back to his seat. Deutsche saw, and tried to bar his way - whatever Little Boy wanted, he had to stop.
He was shocked when Little Boy charged head on, pushing him back to the floor and started kicking him. His father, the tall man and the giant joined him in beating him down. Once Deutsche stopped moving, they turned their attention to the other two troublemakers, both moving in.
"No," Little Boy said, to nobody in particular.
"Boy?" his father asked, an eyebrow raised.
"No." Little Boy dashed to his seat and pulled out a yellow box, decorated with a ship with black sails on it, labeled MANHATTAN. He reached in, and just as Tojo charged to stop him, pulled out a revolver and fired two shots at the man.
The loud booming stopped everyone dead in their tracks, the only sound being Tojo screaming and falling back in pain. Smoke mushroomed from the nozzle, and all eyes were on Little Boy.
"Merde."
"Scheisse."
"Shit. Son, what...what did you do?"
"Now we are all sons of bitches," he said softly, his gun still smoking.
*Author's Note: All historical inaccuracy is a result of my own ignorance. This was hella fun to write, and I may re-do it properly with more historical accuracy someday.* | At either end of a large bar two men sat. Each nursed their pints and went about their business until one man saw that the other man had left his wallet on the table. Despite that wallet sitting right beside the other mans pint, and it being metres away from the first man, the first man decided to come over and take it because he was a fat, greedy, theiving bastard. And there you have the story of the Falklands War. |
Any war.
WWII, the Civil war, the Cold war, the Korean war, anything. | [WP] Summarize a well-known war as if it was a barfight between countries. | #The Russian Civil War
A father and his two of-age twin sons walk into a bar.
The father orders three of the same drinks for him and his twins.
One of the twins, dressed in red clothing, states he'd rather order his own drink than drink what his father wants everyone to drink.
The other twin agrees with his brother, but stays mostly quiet.
The father, already getting drunk, says he doesn't care.
The defiant twin, angry with his father that had oppressed and beaten him for years, punches his father.
His father punches back, and the twin and his father get in a fight.
The other twin cheers his brother on.
The defiant twin eventually takes a bar stool and bashes his father's head over it, causing him to bleed.
The quiet twin asks his brother why he did that, and says he will go contact the police.
The defiant twin, broken and frustrated, attacks his brother.
After a fight that lasts for an hour and a half, the mostly quiet twin loses the fight.
The defiant twin orders vodka, which he drinks while looking over his unconscious relatives. | At either end of a large bar two men sat. Each nursed their pints and went about their business until one man saw that the other man had left his wallet on the table. Despite that wallet sitting right beside the other mans pint, and it being metres away from the first man, the first man decided to come over and take it because he was a fat, greedy, theiving bastard. And there you have the story of the Falklands War. |
Any war.
WWII, the Civil war, the Cold war, the Korean war, anything. | [WP] Summarize a well-known war as if it was a barfight between countries. | Six brothers sat in the little towns only bar, ironically called "Unity". Seron, Crotin, Monte, Maced, Boson and Slovy. I say ironically because they didn't really like each other that much. Their father Tito was a wealthy man,who lived well, splashed around, went on expensive vacations, drove the best cars, had all the ladies. But he was gone now. And instead of the nice chunk of all that wealth each of the six sons anticipated he would get after his death, there came bills. More and more bills, each of the sons expected to pay their part. Turns out old pop lived on credit, taken from the towns loan sharks Ruslan and Murican. They just sat there, thinking what to do, and where in hell could they find all that money? Why did old pop leave them in all those debts? So many questions...
Silence was absolute, then Slovy, the youngest broke it:
"You know what, you guys deal with this. I'm young, i didn't spend any of that money,it was all you and pop, why should i pay?"
The other just sat and watched. Until Seron, the oldest, got of his chair and got into his face.
"You can't bail on us, we are all in this, all for one and one for all, that's the only way we can get out of this"
Then Crotin, the middle one,who always challenged Seron and felt pop gave too much to him compared to his other sons stood up in defense of the youngest brother.
"Easy for you Seron, you ware pops favorite, spent most of that money, and now you want all of us to pay?"
He pushed him away.
"No way, me and Slovy are out of here, you guys are on your own"
Seron lost his temper, in his mind they ware all in the same soup, no way he would let this little prick challenge him this way.
"Sure, you two can go, but pay your part of the debt first, lest you need to pass over me first"
He positioned himself in between the two younger brothers and the doors.
The tension was high, suddenly the whole bar stood in silence and watched the scene unfold. Even the two sharks, who sat in their dark corners sipping on their drinks.
Crotin pushed Seron back, the other pushed harder in return until Crotin fel back over a table. Slovy saw his chance and he ran for the door as fast as he could, until he was out. The other brothers just sat, trying to comprehend the grasp of the situation.
Maced acted first, he stood up and said:
"Look what you two morons did, always you two, just grow up!"
And he walked out to search for Slavy.
Boson stood up and pushed Seron away from his younger brother who was on the floor. He thought how Seron was so angry, he never saw his older brother so enraged in his life. He tried to stop him. He thought Crotin had a point, Seron was just one big bully.
Crotin then stood up, his lip bleeding and his pride hurt. He punched Seron and an all out fight between the brothers started to unfold. Seron was stronger, and more experienced so he got Crotin on the ground with a heavy blow to the brow. He was about to strike him on the ground but Boson jumped on his back like a cat and clung to his neck. The crowd exploded. Everyone was amused. Monte just watched, shocked, he even saw some bets go down.
The fight between the three lasted for a minute,chaos was absolute, low blows, tackles, fists breaking ribs. The three brothers ware a mess of blood and bruises.
Then, after what Monty thought was years, Murica walked out of the shadow of his corner, a cuban cigar smoking from his bristled mouth.
"Allright, allright"
"Break it up boys"
He picked up Seron who was this time on top of Boson and threw him off, once again separating the feuding brothers.
"Don't kill yourselves, who is going to pay me if you fools gut each other to death"
He smiled, then gestured on the brothers behind him.
"You three,come with me. We will work this out."
A finger point to Seron.
"And you stay here, you and i will talk later."
He pushed the now discouraged Seron on his way back aside, while Crotin, Maced and Monte walked out slowly. While passing by, Crotin sent a spiteful smile to his brother.
The bar was once again silent. Prying eyes ware now on the bloody and smeared Seron. He felt humiliated and defeated. Nothing will ever be the same he knew. They ware brothers no more. | At either end of a large bar two men sat. Each nursed their pints and went about their business until one man saw that the other man had left his wallet on the table. Despite that wallet sitting right beside the other mans pint, and it being metres away from the first man, the first man decided to come over and take it because he was a fat, greedy, theiving bastard. And there you have the story of the Falklands War. |
Any war.
WWII, the Civil war, the Cold war, the Korean war, anything. | [WP] Summarize a well-known war as if it was a barfight between countries. | As always, it all begins when somebody drinks too much.
"None of you understand my struggle," people can't tell if he's slurring the words or if it's just his accent. "Four and a half fucking years of struggle against lies, stupidity and cowardice."
"Fuck is 'e on about?" an elderly gentleman sipping sherry asks a younger man drinking beer across from him. The younger man shrugs. "Don't know, don't care, Dad."
"You know, when I encountered the Jew in Vienna, I was nice to him," the drunken lecture continued. A few ears turned to the speaker at the possibility of this anti-semitic rant. "Ja! I was nice to him! And how does he repay me? He bleeds me dry. I am a shadow of my former self." He takes a very long swig before continuing. "Mark my words, *untermenschen*, he will do the same to you." His flourish accidentally tips over a glass belonging to a lone man brooding at the very edge of the bar.
"Oi, oi," the old man nudges another of the patrons at the bar. "Best get the sod home sharpish."
"Kurwa," the small man nods, and sets his drink down before walking slowly to the drunk preacher. Barely ten paces away, the lone brooding man has stood up and is facing the drunkard, their noses inches away.
"Excusez moi."
"Ja?"
"You have spilled my drink. I would like you to replace it."
Tense seconds passed. The drunkard leans in to the other man's face. "You...you are one of them, bleeding me dry. You are nothing now. I could take you, you know."
"Try it, pig."
"Hey, hey Deutsche! Deutsche. Come on, let's go home."
And then it began.
The drunk Deutsche misunderstood the small man's hand on his shoulder as an attack. "DON'T YOU TOUCH ME WITH YOUR FILTHY MONGREL HANDS!" he backhands the man, who is completely unprepared. Angrily and with a speed belying his size, Deutsche jumps onto him and rains down blows upon his face.
The old man and the tall brooding man both jumped into action. Both tried to separate the big man from the smaller one, beaten to a bloody pulp by the drunkard's large meaty fists, both shouting at him in their respective accents to stop this madness. The small man's hands went limp on the floor.
"Arretez! Arretez, you maniac!"
"Stop it, Christ, you're killing the poor lad!"
But the large man did not stop. Annoyed by the interference, and sensing no more resistance from his first target, Deutsche turns his attention to the brooder - by roughly elbowing him in the stomach. Standing up, hitting his face with one, two solid punches, he grabs the tall man by the waist and throws him into a table at which a few other patrons were sitting. There was no reasoning with him now. "BLITZKRIEG!" He shouted, and began to pummel everything in sight - but paid special attention to the tall man, now curled up defensively trying to avoid the worst of the big man's blows. Soon there was none who would stand against him but the old man.
"Back off," Deutsche snarled, "I don't want to fight you."
"Too late for that, mate...By Jingo, someones' gotta stop you," the old man barely managed to finish his sentence before Deutsche charged him, almost seeming to fly as he leaped across the room. Both collapsed to the floor, the big man on top, raining blows like bombs from the sky.
"Son," the old man cried, almost pathetically, "Son, help me!"
But the big man he was drinking with was gone. The old man used to get around a lot, however, as a few of his other sons seated at the other end of the room stood up to defend their father. Before they could make it, however, each of them felt a large, meaty finger tap their shoulders in quick succession.
"Mi scusi, amico," was the last thing they heard before they were knocked down. Fists the size of trains rained down on them, knocking them down for the count before they could even move. A large, boisterous but short man grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe let your padre fight his own battles, si? Bene! I'm glad you agree."
Deutsche raised his eyebrow at the fat man, who laughed. "I happen to agree with you. You and me, we are alike, no? Too long have these bastardi bled us dry. Now it is our time."
Meanwhile, the big beer drinking man, the largest of the old man's sons, had left his table to try and break up a minor brawl at the other end of the bar. Several patrons were already beaten bloody. One stood tall over the other one, demanding loudly that his spilled drink be paid for.
"Hey," the beer man said, distracting the attacker long enough for his opponent to crawl away. "It's not worth it. Let it go."
The attacker, a man who normally kept to himself, stared down the old man's son with bloodlust in his eyes, his face framed with long black hair normally kept tied in a bun atop his head. Clearly, the big man thought, things are not normal over here.
"Who are you, gaijin," the black haired man spat, "to meddle in my affairs? Go away, and I will not harm you."
"Back away, Tojo," the big man snarled, "And we all go home in one piece."
Tojo smiled. "You can't stay here forever, Little Boy. Your father is in grave peril. Soon you will be, too. And when your back is turned?" He cracked his knuckles in the big man's face. "Banzai."
It was at this point that the bartender, a small, mousy man, gathered enough of his courage to speak up. "Hey, hey, everybody calm down. Deutsche, you started this, you can still stop it. If you just back away-"
"Nein," Deutsche hissed. "I've been paying for your drinks for far too long."
"Deutsche, please listen to reason!"
"NEIN! No longer will the Ubermensch be held back. We will take our rightful place at the top of the food chain...when we cleanse the impure." He stood, panting and gasping. The entire bar stared at him, a blood covered madman whose lust for power was only growing and growing.
Deutsche stepped toward the tall man, the one that had opposed him before, and grabbed him screaming by the hair towards the kitchens. The bartender could only cower in fear. Deutsche threw the tall man to the floor and fired up the ovens.
"This is the only way," he snarled, eyes wide, the alcohol no longer holding the insane beast in check. "this is the only way to ensure our race survives the onslaught of the untermenschen."
"What are you doing? Stop!" The old man cried ineffectually. Deutsche ignored him, but paused when a large shadow loomed over him.
"That is enough, tovarisch." The shadow belonged to a giant, his face covered in a large matte of tangled beard. "You are going too far."
"And you," Deutsche snarled, unperturbed by the giant's size. "did not go far enough. I thought you hated them, and their tyranny. What would Marx do, hmmm?"
"Not this, tovarisch," the giant shook his head. "And besides, you are simply another tyrant to overthrow. Best you stop now, or I go all Bolshevik on you."
Deutsche smirked. "You can try." Without warning, he stuck the tall man's hand inside the oven. For a short moment, nothing was heard but the screams of the tall man and Deutsche's insane laughter.
And then it was chaos.
The giant roared, "URAAA!" and tackled Deutsche, who fought ferociously despite being half the giant's size. Deutsche's portly ally cackled and began attacking the giant. The old man and the tall man helped each other up and pulled Deutsche off the giant, raining blows on him as he had done to them before, fists landing in between cries of "Enculer, Fils de putre!" and "Fucking cunt, fucking CUNT!" Meanwhile Tojo, at the other end of the bar, took advantage of the chaos to brutally subdue and beat bloody all of his former drinking buddies, screaming 'BANZAI!' at the top of his lungs. At the centre was poor Little Boy, desperately trying to simultaneously help his allies and stop the aggression.
Tojo saw an opportunity, one that could turn the tide of the brawl in his and his allies' favor. Breaking a bottle, Tojo charged and stabbed Little Boy in the back. He screamed, his cry of anguish and pain echoing around the room. Little Boy turned, shocked at first, then his eyes slowly filling with anger.
"So that's how it is? Fine," he snarled, and tried to make his way back to his seat. Deutsche saw, and tried to bar his way - whatever Little Boy wanted, he had to stop.
He was shocked when Little Boy charged head on, pushing him back to the floor and started kicking him. His father, the tall man and the giant joined him in beating him down. Once Deutsche stopped moving, they turned their attention to the other two troublemakers, both moving in.
"No," Little Boy said, to nobody in particular.
"Boy?" his father asked, an eyebrow raised.
"No." Little Boy dashed to his seat and pulled out a yellow box, decorated with a ship with black sails on it, labeled MANHATTAN. He reached in, and just as Tojo charged to stop him, pulled out a revolver and fired two shots at the man.
The loud booming stopped everyone dead in their tracks, the only sound being Tojo screaming and falling back in pain. Smoke mushroomed from the nozzle, and all eyes were on Little Boy.
"Merde."
"Scheisse."
"Shit. Son, what...what did you do?"
"Now we are all sons of bitches," he said softly, his gun still smoking.
*Author's Note: All historical inaccuracy is a result of my own ignorance. This was hella fun to write, and I may re-do it properly with more historical accuracy someday.* | America is sitting at the bar, minding its own business, when one of Afghanistan's roommates comes over and kicks it in the nuts.
America falls over in pain, swearing at Afghanistan and questioning why the fuck it lets these dicks stay there.
Afghanistan tells America it will let anyone stay there it damn well pleases, and it's none of America's goddamn business since all America does is beat up its friends.
France, Germany, and the UK look up from their drinks across the bar at the growing commotion.
America tells Afghanistan it should stop protecting its roommates and let it and them settle this like men.
The UK announces it supports the US.
Afghanistan reiterates that it will be friends with whoever it wants.
America punches Afghanistan and knocks it out stone-cold. A few of its roommates also get beaten up but most flee the bar.
America looks at Iraq.
Iraq asks what it did this time.
America tells it that it's friends with Afghanistan, which makes it the enemy. America then loudly accuses Iraq of having a gun on it.
Iraq furiously denies these charges, and says it just wants to enjoy its drink in peace.
Germany and France look up from their drinks again, now more concerned.
America asks the barman to search Iraq for the gun. Iraq reluctantly consents to this. The barman finds nothing.
America insists that the gun must be well hidden, and punches Iraq in the face. Iraq staggers but catches itself against the bar.
America gestures to the UK, Germany and France to help it deal with this dangerous criminal.
Germany and France say it's not their business, and return to their drinks. The UK reluctantly joins in, and gives Iraq an uppercut to the stomach.
America finishes Iraq off with a right hook to the jaw and declares Mission Accomplished.
Several hours later, Afghanistan's roommates and a handful of their friends storm into the bar, announcing that they've taken over Iraq's and Syria's houses and that America and its friends can all go fuck themselves. |
[WP] You hear people's personalities as melodies and songs. You never expected to ever hear such a heavy and intense bassline. Especially at a preschool. | These days Connor is a cartoon theme song, something from the 80s, maybe, all synth and chanted lines about "fighting" and "big adventures". Sometimes I start humming along and I catch Connor's eye in the rearview mirror. He acts like I'm just being weird - *silly Daddy* - but I suspect there's a part of him that recognizes the tune, even if he can't actually hear it. It's his song, after all. A unique melody that pours out of him morning, noon, and night. It's changed over the years. When he was a baby, it was bells - seven notes, up, then down, then up, up, up, down, down. Not a happy song. An inquisitive one. An exploratory jingle. I loved that song. It didn't last all that long.
Wendy's song is a folk song. Slow strums, soft voices. Slightly mournful, but really just a story - a story without any words. "Matter of fact" might be a better way to put it. The song of someone who maybe needed more time to find her *real* song, but likes the placeholder well enough. Sometimes Wendy's song makes me sad. Regretful. But... it's not meant to be sad. It's not meant to be *heard*, in all honesty. That's why I can't take it too hard.
The songs are everywhere, in and on and around everyone. I don't necessarily know what they all *mean*, but there's a feeling in each. Something obvious. Instinctual. The kid who bagged my groceries yesterday had a punk song. Simple, driving, angry, and yet hopeful. Hearing his song, I didn't *know* him. The songs don't tell me everything about a person. There's a nuance there that's missing. It's more like an abstraction. A collage of thoughts and feelings. The bagger wanted to break out, and he wanted to blame someone, and he wanted to wallow - just a little - in those negative feelings. But none of that really defines him, and none of that really tells me who he is or who he strives to be. That's why I try not to dwell too hard on the songs. I try not to read into things.
But yesterday, I heard a new song.
I had walked Connor into school. I had a form to drop off at the front desk. I was waiting for old Mrs. Feinman, the school secretary (swing music, frenetic, alive and loose), when I heard a single bassline.
Distortion. Deep fuzz. Doom metal. I could feel it in my fingertips.
That's when I noticed her. A little girl, olive skin, downcast eyes, sitting on the bench across from the desk.
She had hardly any melody at all. Just those pounding, thudding, vibrating notes. Each hit like a fist. There was no sense to it.
It wasn't music. It was pure discord.
Feinman caught my glances. I had almost forgotten she was there - her swing was buried under the treble.
"That's Lena," said Feinman. "It's her first day. She's in Connor's class, I believe."
Lena looked up. Her eyes were soft. She smiled at me. "Pleased to meet you." Her voice was quiet, but calm. Proud.
I smiled back. For a moment, the roaring, consuming bassline quieted down. There were strings under there. Something classical. An overture for a spring morning.
Then Lena's eyes went back down and she returned to her thoughts, and the bass rumbled and thundered.
"She's a refugee," whispered Mrs. Feinman. "Syrian. I can't imagine what she's been through."
The notes fell. Hammer strikes. My head swam with the violence of them.
"Neither can I," I said, feeling cold and sick and alone. I flinched as another pulse cracked like the sky was splitting apart. "Neither can I." | I peeped into the class. At once the chatter died as they spotted me. I followed the music that had now silenced to a whisper. There he was. Their teacher walked in.
"Oh, you're here."
"They were just making noise I had to. Anyway, let me leave you to take over."
I excused myself as Miss Treilo started her lesson, but I couldn't get it out of my head. In a class where most had hello kitty jingles and some had baby rattles there was a baseline that could have earned respect at a mosh pit.
I decided to wait until I was the one on duty. I had seen him more than once playing with the others, although I had never seen him display any abilities. Finally my day came. I stalked the halls waiting, there was no way such an young bunch could keep quiet.
I heard them and didn't hesitate. I went in, pointed fingers, "you, you, and you get out," and left with the culprits.
The others gave looks of shock, and some bid them farewell. My reputation for discipline was well known.
When they were out I got a good look at them.
"What are your names?" I asked.
"Shamlow, Grise."
"Ret Borang'."
"Aronavo Iks."
I looked at Iks proper. The bassline had lowered to a barely audible hum as most people's did in the presence of authority. his eyes were a golden hue I had never seen on anyone. I had to ask.
"And what kind of anchorite are you Iks?"
"I don't know." He hung his face down dejected.
I looked at the other two. The red eyes of fire and brown eyes of earth shone from them. "Why were you making noise?"
They looked down shame-faced.
"And why were you standing on your chair?" I asked Aronavo. "The two of you go back."
"I was trying to catch something," he said.
"mmhmm" I added.
I lifted him by his chin so he could take a look at my own unique orange eyes.
"Don't feel sad about your abilities alright? You never know what you'll awaken. Now behave or next time there will be consequences."
With that I shooed him off back to his class. The bassline ripped as he scuttled back. I knew that the chatter would start barely five minutes after I was gone.
As I went to the staffroom I met Treilo. I had to ask.
"Treilo, you have a student Aronavo Iks."
"Yes I know the sound seer."
"A what?"
"He can see sound."
"How does he behave?"
"He's got music in his blood. I think that says it all. He doesn't seem to have much ability apart from that for now."
"Hmm. Interesting," I added. I leaned back on my chair and silently counted the years I'd have to wait before I'd get to teach a student of sound.
***
/r/pagefighter
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[WP] You are a medieval knight, responsible for rescuing a dragon, one the last members of its species, from the evil princess. | Midas watched from the mouth of the cave. He could see the mercenaries approaching. No doubt sent by that princess. Greedy woman, wanting all the treasure for herself. Now Midas could see them more clearly. There were about five of them. He's fought more.
Foolish, really, bringing a supplies caravan up a mountain. Well, it was only fools that tried to challenge the dragon. He knew they spotted him, but they seemed relaxed. They really are fools.
A burly man clad in armor approached him. "Hark stranger! Are you here to slay the foul dragon as well?"
"*Bah*. That dragon slaying business is nonsense." Midas paused. "I'm here for... personal reasons." He was grinning under his black armor. He always enjoyed the thrill of combat. It was like a kid waking up on Christmas day.
"In that case, good sir, would you care to assist us?" The woman spoke authoritatively, clearly the leader of these glorified sell-swords. "We could use all the help we can muster." Those arrows on her back looked sharp.
"*Actually*." Midas replied, savoring the moment. "I'm here to do the **opposite**." Two people iron-clad. An archer, rogue and mage. It was a fine party. And Midas loved crashing parties.
The first thing that happened was the arrow; loosened from its string. The second was Midas' own daggers, the sound of metal leaving sheathe echoing into -and back out of- the cave. The rest was a blur. The arrow struck, leaving a scratch, nothing more. The iron-clad warriors charged at him. The rogue following their advance. Despite being in such protective armor, Midas was deceptively nimble. His first strike met blade, his second stubborn armor. A battleaxe roared downwards as he dodged to the right, the blade sharing a brief meeting with the ground.
Midas spun and landed his dagger into the neck of his first opponent. The rogue landed a hefty kick to his visor, forcing him back a few steps, the dagger still embedded in his opponent. A fireball surged towards him, the mage waiting for more openings. Fireballs. *Jackpot*. The flame hit Midas, but instead of burning him, as the mage would expect, it meekly subsided upon impact.
"Ha!" Midas retorted. "You call *that* a fireball? **This** is a fireball!" The orange sprouted from his black-clad hand, screeching towards its target. Midas threw his other dagger into the chest of the rogue as his flame swallowed an arrow, then the archer. Now it was time to get up close and personal.
The battleaxe swung across, forcing Midas to back off. This knight knew to keep his opponent at bay. So they're not all fools then. An orange glow started to rise from *inside* Midas' armor. He rushed forward, leaving embers in his wake. Caught off guard by this, the iron-clad gladiator hesitated, and was rewarded with an elbow to the visor. Seizing the moment -and the axe- Midas slammed the flat of the axe against the warrior's visor, then kicked him away. That would keep him out of the way for a moment.
More fireballs flew his way, but they hit with the effectiveness of trying to hug somebody to death. Midas, strolling calmly, didn't bother stopping the mage as he seized hold of the reigns and turned the cart around. Might do him good to let some escape. He walked towards his -unfinished- armored assailant.
"Wait- Wait!" The warrior begged. "We can split the treasure, stop the dragon from stealing any more!"
Midas couldn't help but scowl inside his own armor. "You think that the dragon ***STEALS*** that gold!? It **SHEDS** it you fool!" His armor began to glow from inside again.
"Then, why? Why protect it?" The warrior was clearly dumbfounded, as he should be. He only understood the language of coin.
"Well..." Midas said taking off his helmet. "I know we may not look alike... but..."
The warrior could see it. The yellow eyes, scales. An orange glow in his mouth. The *smirk*. The beast that bested them wasn't human. It didn't even *pretend* to be. Midas let him know his reasons before dispatching the warrior.
"*Someone* has to protect my little brother." | The Princess was never prisoner in that tower, she was barricaded in that tower. The poor, endangered species of dragon. So cruel, was the fair maiden, to want to annihilate the last of its kind for the jewels said to rest in its stomach, it was hatching eggs! I valiantly rode forth to rescue the fiery lizard and her eggs from her evil clutches! This is but mere barbarism, animal cruelty to an inhuman almost criminal degree. I was always ordered by the King to rescue his daughter and help in her slaying the poor creature but this time, upon discovering it was one of very few left, I slit his throat forthwith, and slew the foul Princess forever more! The new monarch shall be none other than the Crowned Prince Little Argen, who shall be raised and by yours truly. I do swear to take him as my ward until such a time he is ready to assume the throne. The dragons shall be protected from here on out, and used as our defense against invading Kingdoms. |
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | It has only been four years since the Declaration of the Hunt. Four years of running, of hiding. Of eating meals long expired, and, occasionally, fighting for my life.
The first year wasn't so bad, to be honest. I spent it spread over a dozen different states, crappy motels and libraries mostly. One for the few hours of sleep I allowed myself, the other to find something; some law or regulation. Some loophole I could use to get myself out of this. I even tried hiring a lawyer once. Once. Only thing I got out of that was the realization that anything I did was under the clause of self defense. That made things a bit easier.
Even so, in year two I found myself slipping the border down into Mexico. It was more difficult than I thought it would be, with all the Government's complaints on illegals. I made it though. Nine months of barely needing to watch over my shoulder. I fucked up though. An email to my wife tipped one of the Cartels off to who I was. Apparently they could cash in as much as any American.
Back to America I went. This time to the nowheres. Forests with little but a tarp between me and hypothermia. A desert where I spent a week, delirious from the bite of something I never even saw.
Those last two years I spent away from humanity. I kept no contact with family, friends, not even strangers. I saw no TV, rarely got my hand on the paper. Two years alone. Four on the run.
Six months ago, they got to my family. Did things, to my family. Tortured my little girl, to tell them where 'daddy' was. And they did this live streamed. They wanted me to see it. Wanted me to know it would be slow, so if I felt like turning myself in, there would be time.
I found out about it last week.
So here I am now, sitting at a corner table of an expensive bar, waiting to meet with someone who's time is literally worth my life. It wasn't easy to find a name. People like him rarely leave one behind. But I found one. And he's worth all the trouble, if the stories are true. Ten million is a lot for a contract, but I'm expecting a lot in return.
After only four years, the Declaration is over. But the Hunt is just beginning. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | Hey guys, wow this really blew up! Pretty awesome so many people read my post, even though this is just my second post all time on Reddit. I am glad this did well, since I've been following other writing prompts and it seemed the ones that did well were books or writings the writer genuinely wanted to read. Really happy with all the angles, I think a future book of this would be better served of with a 1 or 2 year survival challenge. If someone goes through with this as a book idea, please let me know! | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | “The hell is this?” I stared incredulously at the screen, where my name and foto were plastered just a second earlier. Sure, the government loved their twisted “social experiments”, but why me?
I must have stood in the dark silence of my living room for hours until the sun began creeping over the horizon. Then it hit me. My family was not safe anymore, the home security system, the panic room, all subverted by the *fucking government*.
I had to move, shit I had to *run*, and run now. I grabbed my go-bag (a little habit left over from my days as an EMT) and headed out.
That’s when I heard it. A harsh *click* of a gun being cocked. I had patched up enough bangers and crackheads to recognize that sound, but apparently not enough to know any better. I turned towards the source, raising my hands.
He was just a few feet behind me. My 60-odd-year-old ornithologist of a neighbor had found himself a pistol. “I’m s-sorry F-F-Felix”. He was shaking so badly he barely held on to the gun.
No. I’m not dying like this, not to him. I lunged.
| Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | It is hard to believe that my name was picked all those 9years and 364 days ago. I was just your average joe.
I was lucky that I had a work from home job cause I wouldn't have made it all those years. I was a nerd and a loner so life hasn't changed that much. People have come for the $10 mill but they never got close to me. Video games made me a great sniper and the money spent on that security system was well spent before all of this went down.
One more day and I will be remembered as the one would beat the odds and make everyone in the world $10k richer.
One more day I think to myself has cough up more blood.
Just one more day....
| Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | I stepped out of my apartment and slung my bag over my shoulder. The rain was falling lightly and the sound of the cars on my street assaulted my senses as they whirred along the wet asphalt. I pulled up my hood and stuck in my earphones, and I pulled my scarf in tighter against my neck as I dodged the puddles in the concrete.
I was late, and I decided to cut through Times Square over to the subway, but as I rounded the corner I was struck by the eerie near silence in spite of a mass of people that was unusual for the early hour. I looked around them as I walked and I wouldn't have thought to look up if they hadn't all been looking and pointing in the same direction, murmuring quietly to each other.
But when I turned my head my mouth fell open and I slowly pulled out my earphones as I saw the most valuable piece of advertising real estate in the world, the one halfway up the Flatiron Building that's usually reserved for Coca-Cola, bearing an enormous picture of my own face.
There was a ticker at the bottom scrolling with my name and address.
I stopped, dumbstruck, and listened to the people muttering about what it is or what it could mean. *Who is that? Is it art? Is it a prank? It's funny, take my picture.* But just as my eyes took in the curious sight of my own enormous image enclosed in the screen of some tourist's phone I saw her screen go dark, start buzzing, and flashing quickly between black and white.
Simultaneously the phones of everyone in the square did the same thing, and I felt my own going off in my pocket. When I pulled it out I saw there was a timer counting down: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... And as I read what was written in the message that appeared I knew that, whatever my next move was, it couldn't be to run. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | "The Chosen was killed this afternoon," my wife murmured, scrolling through her phone.
A tense silence fell on the room. The show we were streaming cut to their commercials and "We'll be right back" was on the screen.
"Are you nervous, daddy?" my one daughter asked. Our twin girls knew what this news meant despite only being 4 years old, but were so informed of the situation because of its greater frequency in the news lately.
"No.... not yet."
The envelope was always delivered with fanfare: news cameras, reporters, helicopters, and a police escort. You and everybody in the country knew where the convoy was as soon as it rolled out. The government-sponsored "Convoy Tracker Pro" was a mandatory install on every smartphone.
Every intersection it reached filled people with anticipation. "Who is it?" was the most common question since the individual's identity was only known by a select few. They could be anyone: your neighbor, your boss, your spouse; the whole country didn't know for sure until the convoy came to a halt.
Naturally, the convoy was tailed by hundreds and thousands of civilian vehicles filled with folks eager to exact their manufactured revenge at the earliest possible moment. As the convoy passes through towns and cities, it grows for miles until the destination is reached. This Chosen had grave importance for the nation; the convoy was the biggest it had ever been.
After the commercial break, the show we were watching was replaced by this raucous carnival of vitriol. Reporters were especially solemn and the eager followers were chanting "So close!" out their car windows. The news faces could be seen mouthing along.
As we kept up with the coverage, the convoy appeared to be creeping in our direction. I couldn't tell yet, but my family knew where to run in the event that I was the one they were coming for.
"Are they coming for you, daddy?"
"Only time will tell, honey. Don't you worry."
The convoy rolled through the town just before ours on Route 398. From the porch we could faintly hear the roars of the thousands of vehicles passing through the tiny, worn-down mining town. All our neighbors came out to their porches as well, well aware of the situation like everyone else.
The convoy turned off the main road and started down our street towards our cul-de-sac.
It was time.
"Do as we've practiced!" I scolded at my wife and daughters. They scurried into the bunker beneath the house hidden behind the washer and dryer. They didn't know yet but their safety was of the utmost importance to me.
The lead van stopped dead in the middle of the cul-de-sac; it did not turn to park in front of any particular house but rather stayed true to the road it came in on. Helicopters hovered low and the trees were being blown around, launching leaves and branches every which way. The civilian convoy drivers and riders began to queue on either side of the convoy escorts. A man stepped out of the van and began walking towards my house.
The "So close" chants intensified with every step the man took. As he stepped up the stairs of my porch, I came outside to greet him. The cameras, lights, and all eyes in the country were fixated on me and this man. He addressed me.
"I was beginning to think I wouldn't have to deliver this envelope, Mr. Blum. There are a lot of people behind me who will soon want you dead, if not already want you dead." He snickered.
"I am aware." I said with a smirk.
"Cocky one are we? It takes a man with serious balls to be in your shoes right now, and to be smug about it nonetheless." He tapped his breast pocket where the envelope was located and began to fish it out.
The cul-de-sac was covered with people. There was no glimmer of evening dew on the grass, no view of the sidewalk or street. Every square inch of my neighborhood was packed with people; people who were all here to see me. I could only think of my family at this time, how they would be able to take this moment and become stronger from it.
The man opened the envelope and unfolded its contents, turned to the crowd and cameras and began reading the cover letter aloud.
"On this day, March 24, 2073, by official decree, Mr. Albert Blum has recognized as the 17th Killer of the Chosen, bringing down the Chosen after 9 years, 11 months, and 21 days. Mr. Blum is hereby granted the award of $10 Million, free of tax, to do with what he pleases. The new Chosen, as is custom, shall be selected exclusively by the Killer of the Chosen upon the receipt of his award."
The crowd was reluctantly cleared from my driveway and the van was parked in my garage. The man and I walked around and I inspected my spoils. Satisfied, we walked out and the garage began to close.
As the garage door closed behind us the man, shouting over the undulating crowd noise, asked, "Do you have any ideas who you are going to select?"
I paused as I got to the top step of my porch. The door was locked and I had left my keys inside. I knocked on the door heavily, signaling to my family that it was safe to emerge from hiding.
I turned to the man and confidently resumed the smirk from earlier.
"I've had some things pass through my head."
The man's face reeled.
I pulled the 9mm out of my mailbox and put it to my temple. "It's time to end this fucking tradition." | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | And there she was. The love of my life, my reason for living, aiming a gun straight at my chest.
"Bill...are you sure?"
"Susie, sweetie, it's okay. It really is."
"B-but I don't know if I can..."
"You can. You will."
I step right up close to her. The barrel pokes into my sternum, and an unwilling flash of fear hits my gut. Never mind. Ignore it.
"You *have* to."
"...What do I tell him? He's going to ask me Bill, what the hell am I going to say to him-"
"Tell him whatever you want. Well, i-if you don't mind, tell him his Dad died trying to be brave. He won't blame you. I don't. And *you* better not."
"Bill..." Tears. Those are tears for me. God, she looks beautiful.
"I love you sweetie."
**BANG**
Johnny, if you can hear me, it's your Dad. You're gonna wake up real soon, Mom's gonna take care of everything. She'll bring you home, she'll get you the surgeries, everything's already taken care of. I love you kiddo. Take care of your mom. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | It was not a difficult decision. Well, Mathematically at least.
I turned off my inserts. It’s funny how jarring it feels to disconnect from everything around you once you are used to the chips communicating and managing every aspect of your life. I wonder what our ancestors felt when they didn’t have chips managing lights, air conditioners, air customizers, and other common accessories for them. Must be tiresome to keep adjusting the temperature control without the inserts automatically adjusting them to ideal body temperature constantly. Couldn’t stay in this state for long, everyone will find out immediately. A void, on the day of selection, gets noticed easily.
You see, that’s what the first few did. In an attempt to hide, they disconnected from the world completely. Felt like an obvious solution. Disconnect for 10 years and collect the prize. $10,000,000 is a reasonable compensation for enduring 10 years without technology and the Amish do live without it. It’s not like disconnecting is illegal or something. However, on the day of the selection, if you disappear, you become the most obvious suspect. You will find that relatives, co-workers, friends, everyone wants to touch you. Physical touch, so they can hear the anticipated ding, and claim the prize. $10,000,000 is a reasonable compensation for sacrificing an acquaintance after all. All you have to do is call a few friends, besiege the prey, and earn enough for a lifetime. I myself had fantasized about finding the previous targets. $10,000,000. It’s a huge sum.
It's not like I blame them. I wouldn’t attempt to physically meet others either if there wasn’t an incentive to do so. Perfect android companions can conform to feel, texture, and voice of many celebrities. Why would you want to meet average people? Children are extremely expensive anyways. Honestly, not worth it for a few minutes of fun. The game became the only way for governments to get people to meet and touch each other physically. Anyone shunning such physical touch, especially if it happened after the selection, became suspicious. Family dinners, BBQ parties, romantic evenings, all became excuses to develop relationships so that people could develop a justification to touch.
10 minutes have passed. Statistically, I have 5 more before Angela should come in. I have timed her before. On average, she takes 15 minutes to come down. Standard deviation is approximately 1 minutes. There is a 95% chance she will come between 13 to 17 minutes. My ability to be precise is the characteristic I take most pride in after all. You see, I have always been good with numbers.
When I went to college, Mathematics was one of the last bastion of human creativity. They said computers cannot develop proofs like we do since it requires a type of intelligence that they lack. Felt obvious at the time to get my degree in abstract Mathematics. Well, even those jobs are starting to disappear now. Turns out creativity isn’t all that difficult to model after all.
It is not a difficult decision. I neatly fold the letter and place it on the table. It will explain to her that I am the target so she can call and claim her prize before others reach. That should take an average of 30 more minutes with a standard deviation of 5 minutes. The letter is short. She will only have 3-7 minutes to get over her shock, read the letter, and make the call. In the worstcase scenario, she may not even have that much time. Well, I cannot control everything I guess. $10,000,000 is a huge sum after all. I want her to have it. She is not the most beautiful but she has been my girlfriend for past few years. None of the past targets survived 10 years. Might as well end the misery now and let her claim the win.
It was not a difficult decision. Well, Mathematically at least.
P.S: It is (m)y first time. Be gentle. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | I was out of town when my name came up on the news. Thank god they never included a picture, at least not on the first day. They didn’t want to make it *too* easy. If they had, I surely would have been shot in the mall where I stood, numbly staring at the TV on the store wall.
 
I should have been prepared; I knew they would be announcing someone new today. The poor bastard before me had been killed yesterday in the midafternoon, and by his own son no less. They always broadcast the next victim the day after.
 
Since the government had started the Culling six months ago, nearly two hundred had died. No one made it more than a few days. The absolute greed of humanity had laid itself bare, and I truly believed that this was the mark of our doom as a species.
 
It seemed to me that the mainstream media had been on the right track on the way the world was going. The entire concept sounded like some over the top writing prompt for a dystopian novel for Christ’s sake! I mean, a ten million dollar manhunt on random citizens televised on national news? The entire idea seemed too insane to be real. When first I heard of it I firmly believed I would see Margaret Atwood step out from behind the curtain and announce her new book. That was, until the first one was killed, followed by another two dozen over the next month. Those first fifty dropped like flies, nearly all of them killed on the first day. The lucky ones like me were in neighbouring towns when they were announced, and if they caught the news, they had a 24 hour head start to get into hiding before their picture went up.
 
After a few long minutes, that felt more like days, I recovered myself and looked around me. I had been staring at the TV too long; the others that had been waiting for the name to be put up had now mostly dispersed, though as I turned around, a few shoppers eyed me suspiciously, some looking a little hungrily at my recently unfrozen form.
 
As casually as I could, I began to walk towards the exit, forcing all of my willpower into not looking behind me, sure that to do so would signal my fear. As I neared the exit, I checked the glass reflection for anyone following me. No one in sight, but that shouldn't make me complacent. Not all Hunters made themselves that obvious.
 
A brisk walk across the lot and I was in my thankfully bland and very forgettable beige Corolla, and leaving the shopping mall. I was in the clear. For now.
 
Hours later after having filled my tank on a pickpocketed credit card, I was on the freeway to the next state. Home was a sad memory, and if I hoped to make it more than the usual few days, I needed to get far away; away from home, from any large towns, into the wilderness.
 
It was now late at night, I had about 10 hours till the morning news, accompanied by my picture. I pressed down further on the gas and drove on, coming to a long hill sloping gently upwards. As I crested the top, my heart nearly stopped- brake lights. For miles. Willing myself not to panic, I looked around for a way off the main road. This had been a stupid idea, the backroads were slower but far safer.
 
Heart pounding in my chest, I finally saw it, a gap in the side barrier that led off to a shallow ditch and a field, with the soft lights of some small town in the distance. Hope, dangerous, wild hope burned briefly in my chest.
 
I eased my way across the three lanes of traffic and slowly the traffic inched forward to the gap sought. Minutes later, I was there. Turning my wheels sharply to the right, I turned off my headlights and left the paved road. I would just have to hope my poor tired Corolla would make it through the tilled dirt of the mile or so of field.
 
Once I had escaped reasonable earshot of the vehicles stopped on the freeway, I floored it, and spat dirt out the back tires as I raced across the open field in near total darkness. If I weren't so terrified, it might have been thrilling, the insanity of it all. And I might have also noticed the black SUV that turned and followed me through the same gap in the freeway wall.
 
**END OF PART 1**
EDIT: changed a word, formatting | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | This day started out so well. I was at the game and the Bills were actually winning for a change when an announcement came across the titantron at halftime. I thought it was some kind of joke at first. There was my face along with some Hispanic chick and it said President Trump put a bounty out on the heads of me and that poor girl. If somebody kills me in the next 10 years they get $10,000,000 and if I survive everybody in the world gets $10,000. Everybody at the stadium got quiet and started mumbling about the stupidity of it when everybody's cellphones started going off with the same notification.
I stood up and tried sneaking away because all it takes is one person to think this was serious to put a bullet in my head. I was heading towards the exit when the pointing started and before I knew it I was on all the screens around the stadium. A shiver runs up my spine as the murmuring started turning into a roar and I started to run. I didn't get far when a fist smashed into my face and I blacked out.
When I came to I was positive I was in hell. There was screaming everywhere and I was having a hard time seeing with the water flowing into my eyes and it was so hot. I try to reach up to wipe the water from my eyes but all I felt was a white hot pain race up my right arm. Broken. I reach up with my left and manage to wipe away the water and when I can see my hand comes away red. As bad as that was what I see surrounding me is so much worse. Thousands of people are rioting and I get kicked in the back and I struggle to breath. I'm still in the stadium and not only is everybody trying to kill me they're fighting each other as well trying to get to me. Another person stomps on my ankle and I come to my senses and try to get the fuck out of there.
I scramble towards the exit getting kicked and grabbed at and it seems like soon as somebody gets a hold on me they're forced to let go by some other murderous fan trying to kill me. I don't know how many times I'm kicked, punched, and gouged but I manage to make it out of the stands and find myself in the concession area and can finally stand up. God my arm hurts so much and my left ankle isn't much better but I can put some weight on it. It's oddly empty down here but the noise up above me is getting louder. The screams sounds like the fiery pits of hell. I'm rushing as fast as I can towards the parking lot and a few blood soaked people managed to get down here through the bottleneck and they paid for it. The closest is a man that's missing his arm at the elbow and it's spurting blood. He's still coming after me. I stumble around him and he manages to grab my broken arm with his one remaining and I punch him in the face and feel his nose crunch under my fist. He lets go and I rush towards the exit. Right when I get outside I run into a couple of police officers.
"Thank god, You have to help me. Everybody is trying to kill me over a stupid joke!"
One of the officers look at me and then looks at her partner and says "Sorry sir but it's not a joke." Her and her partner draw their guns and point them at me when he says "Go for center mass, we need his face recognizable for the reward." They each fire three rounds.
I collapse on the ground and start gurgling blood trying to breath. Why did this happen? I'm so cold and can't breath and I see the female officer standing over me and she's crying. "I'm so sorry, but 5 million dollars is a lot of money" She puts three more rounds in my chest and my vision starts going black. The last thing I see and hear is a gunshot and blood spurting out the side of her head.
| Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | Only 30 more seconds…
The past 10 years have been an absolute nightmare. The bounty placed on my head has turned everyone against me. My wife, my parents, my family and friends have all tried to kill me for their own benefit. Where do I go from here?
Only 20 more seconds…
Should I go back home and act like nothing ever happened? Should I try to start over new?
For once I really do think that there is no one else in the world who could relate or be able to help me. I am officially alone now…
Only 10 more seconds…
The only thing I know for certain is that this will help a lot of people. Sure $10,000 may not be anything to retire on for some people, but this will give many the ability to feel some comfort, get a starter home, buy that car, start a college savings plan. Maybe even a lot of them will donate to charity! In third world countries they’ll be able to eat, possibly even get access to medical supplies.
This was the right thing after all. One person suffers… but the rest benefit. I can put myself among the ranks of other divine fighters such as Jesus Christ and Martin Luther King Jr.
Time…
It’s over… it’s finally done.
The door creaks as I turn the handle and push it open. The sun’s warmth on my face…I’ve missed this for so long… to enjoy the simple things.
I open my eyes to see the beautiful scenery around me.
I am surrounded by what feels like everyone… Guns, knives, and various homemade weapons…
It was at this moment I realized my watch may have been a little fast…
| Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | President Trump had been in decline for some time and everyone knew it. After one last desperate attempt to win over some support, he asked that his 'fellow Christian Americans' trust his judgement with his new idea:
One person would be selected at random and, should they survive, he would personally guarantee that each person in the world would be $10,000 richer. However, should that person be killed, their murderer would be exempt from prison and win 100x the amount.
It was fairly clever to be honest; place his faith in his public and hopefully they reward you and you follow suit. Failing that, one person would take the flak for depriving the world from a richer state. There would most certainly be one greedy bastard out there willing to commit the unspeakable act and be rewarded for it.
Fellow Christian Americans, my ass.
And of course, the 'random' name wouldn't be random at all. No, he had to pick me. It had to be a high profile name, someone people may actually want to see dead.
No.
Not me.
The announcement was meant to take place tomorrow afternoon in a big conference, but as we all know, there are a multitude of leaks in government.
I smirked as I changed my name in the document to that of Mr. Trump himself and clicked send. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | The clock struck midnight 6 hours ago. I survived. Thank goodness. I don't know how but I survived.
The news is broadcasting that people all over the world are receiving their $10,000 into their bank accounts. I can hear the cheering outside my bunker.
If my calculations are correct, the world's economy will crash in about 6 more hours. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | "Why me?" I thought to myself, staring at the 'BREAKING NEWS' on the TV.
*"Today is a tremendous day, as local Father to two Michael Spraggen has been selected for the decade long Murder Hunt! Congratulations Michael!"*
"Congrats? Fuck you in your nice warm studio" I thought to myself once more. I knew that my life, and my children's life were about to change for the next 10 years, so I did what any Father would do.
"You NEED to come pick up these kids! I will not have them in danger, people are fucking crazy out there!" I ranted down the phone to Abigail, the mother of my children, we were divorced but the case was not yet settled.
"I can't do that, if I come near you I am in danger too!" Abigail replied.
"Are you mad! These are your children for crying out loud!"
There was a silence on the end of the phone, then...
"Fine, I'll come over later on, get them ready and EXPLAIN it too them!"
*Click*
Good, that is the kids taken care of, now to fend for my own sake.
**One Year Later**
I have had a few scraps, people picking fights with me because it is, well me. Other than that I have been left alone for the most part. I have had minimal contact with my kids and I have become somewhat of a recluse, but that is understandable, right?
**Three Years Later**
I am four years into the Murder Hunt, people have begun getting cocky, coming to my home and throwing bricks through the window. They are taunting me perhaps? I don't know.
**Five Years Later**
I am one year away from freedom, I have fought off so many attackers now it is second nature to look over my shoulder 24/7. My children are not children anymore, they are older, wiser, and hopefully they understand why their dad isn't around. I'm sure they have seen the news, seen what they made me do.
I sat on the couch in my living room, the windows were boarded up and the door had 5 locks on it. A table was overturned and facing the windows. I was secure.
*Bzzt. Bzzt.*
I pick up my vibrating mobile off of the couch. It was a text from my Ex-Wife.
*Abigail: hey mike, the papers are finally settled for the divorce so i will be bringing them over for you to sign in about half an hour, ill bring the girls, sound good?*
*Michael: sounds good*
**30 Minutes Later**
*Knock Knock Knock.*
I never answer the door nowadays without my 9mm, it has saved my ass from a surprise attack more than once now. I looked through the peephole and saw my ex-wife standing with my 17 year old daughters. I began to tear up knowing they were there.
I opened the door and invited them all in.
"Wow, this place is....nice?" Abigail remarked awkwardly, as she scanned over the room.
"Yeah well you can't exactly live a normal life when EVERYONE wants you dead now can I?"
Abigail scoffed, then her expression turned serious.
"Maia, Emily, go into the kitchen. Me and your dad need to sort some business out."
My daughters shuffled out of the room, they looked glum, probably the state of the house. We waited until they left and shut the door behind them. I turned to face Abigail.
"I know why you are really here. I don't appreciate the fact you brought the kids into this" I said, sternly.
"You know why I am here do you? I am here for the divorce" Abigail retorted, with a cold smirk.
"I noticed you didn't bring any paperwork with you. You are here to end my life and take the money"
"So what if I am? Can you blame me?"
"Yes, you are only doing this because of the divorce. You know it will not settle for a long time because of the Murder Hunt and when it DOES finally settle you KNOW that I would get full custody of the kids because YOU are a psychotic bitch."
Abigail eye's pierced my own like a knife. She looked at me, sizing me up.
"Hm, maybe you are right. But that won't matter when I get the prize!"
She pulled a Glock from her waistband and aimed it at my head.
"I brought the kids so you could at least say your goodbyes, I am not totally heartless."
I knew this day would come, but I had worked too hard to have my life taken away by the one person who, at an earlier point in time was the one to give my life purpose. I REFUSED to let it take a hold of me.
"Alright" I said, backing up. "Let me go and say goodbye."
Before Abigail even had a chance to pull the trigger I had dived behind the overturned table. She unloaded on me.
*BLAP. BLAP. BLAP.*
Shot after shot rang out, I heard the girls scream but I knew they were safe. I had to stop her before she got a lucky shot through this rather flimsy wooden table.
That is it. Flimsy.
I waited until she stopped to reload then picked the table up and launched it at her. I crashed into her, sandwiching her between the table and the wall. Abigail fell hard to the floor. Rage came over me and I beat her, I beat her to death.
As I panted and heaved, the realization kicked in. My knuckles were bloodied and sore. Abigail lie still, her face caved in on one side.
"Kids, don't come in her-"
It was too late, Maia and Emily stood behind me a few feet away. Shell shocked at the scene they saw.
"Please, babies don't-don't come closer. It's alright but just don't come closer. Your mother tried to kill me, I had too. I had too."
Suddenly the tears from the girls just stopped, like someone had flicked a switch. They looked at each other, then retreated into the kitchen again.
"What are you guys doing in there?" I called out.
"PUT THOSE THINGS DOWN RIGHT NOW" I screamed as they returned, machete and baseball bat in hand.
"Mother has been teaching us all about you. About how you are a cold, heartless murderer that has a bounty on his head." Maia exclaims.
"That- That is NOT true!"
"It is" says Emily. "Over the years we have been taught how do defeat you if ever we feel threatened."
"What? By your Mother? She is sick, she WAS sick. None of this is down to me, it's the Government I'm telling you just read the news!"
The girls looked at each other then advanced towards me. I picked up the Glock and aimed towards them.
"Please, don't make me do this" I cried.
The girls began crying too, were they playing me for a fool? Or were they just as confused as I was.
"No, no no no no do NOT start crying. DO NOT MAKE THIS HARD FOR ME" I wailed.
The girls continued to cry, weapons still in hand.
"Drop the weapons and I'll drop mi-"
"I HATE YOU! YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!"
"MAIA!"
*BLAP*
*THUD*
I stared, unable to move at the fresh corpse of my eldest daughter Maia. Emily stand frozen in place, crying without sound. I looked up towards her.
"Emily, I love you so much."
"I am confused da-"
I aimed the gun towards her.
"But I cannot allow you to leave this house. I have one more year before this hell is over, I will not allow you to give away my location..." I looked down at the bodies of my family. "...My secrets"
*BLAP*
*THUD* | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | "I don't want to do this!" I knew she would be protesting this, arguing with me like she always did. This time the argument was more intense than ever, and it was an argument I needed to win.
"But Sarah, don't you see? It's for the best. You can take care of Emily and Joseph, they'll never want for anything again," I argued, the same words I had been repeating for the last hour. It didn't seem like it was working. The beautiful woman I had married fifteen years ago was glaring at me, angry and horrified. All I could think about was how beautiful she was, with her blue eyes and sandy hair, her skin that was just slight tanned with freckles all over. Our daughter and son took after her, thank god.
"I don't care. I can't do this, I can't believe you'd ask me!" She had already said this several times in the last hour too. This argument was going in circles, and time was running out. "All you have to do is live for ten years, then everyone wins! Everyone gets money."
"Only 10k," I said as I pushed her hair out of her face. "That's not enough to even buy a car Jenny."
"That's fine, I just want you! I don't care about the money you asshole!"
"I do, besides there are evil people in the world and I can't protect myself or my family from them. You don't think there's people who want the 'grand prize'? People who might not stop at killing just me. No, Jenny it's not possible, and-" I trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence, not wanting to tell her the truth.
"And nothing. We can go underground, we could-"
"And what kind of life is that for the kids!" I yelled, angry now. "Jospeh is almost a teenager, you want to take away the best years of his life? And what about little Emily? She's only eight, she'd never understand why we're hiding. Don't do that to them!"
"And taking away their father is best?" She snapped back, trying not to cry. She always did cry when things got heated. "I don't want them to live without you-I don't want to live without you, it's not fair!"
It wasn't fair. It absolutely wasn't; however it was a blessing.
"Jenny...I'm not going to survive ten years. Even if we did go underground."
"What do you mean?" She asked, her tears falling freely now, her voice softer.
"I'm sorry," I started, shaking. "Doctor Zimar said...I have cancer Jenny. Brain cancer. I don't know how long I'd have, but it's not ten years. I'm just going to get worse and worse. I don't want you and the kids to see that. If I hadn't been picked maybe I could have done chemo, surgery...but the doctors could kill me now, easily."
Jenny started to sob. I knew she would. That she'd take this news very hard. "John," she said between sobs. "I was going to tell you at your birthday but...I'm pregnant again. You might as well know," she said, gripping the gun I had given her an hour ago. I smiled, touching her stomach. "He'll grow up perfect, I'm sure of it." I wish I could have seen him or her, that kid would be perfect just like Jenny and our other precious babies.
I took a step back and closed my eyes. "In the mouth, I read that's the best way. It's quick Jenny, I promise." I didn't hear what she said next, but I remember the long kiss and the whisper of "I love you John," before a very brief flash of pain, then nothing. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | The obstetrician sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was the worst part of his job. He peered over his glasses at the ultrasound results once more, hoping that the words had changed. But no. Taking a deep breath, he stood and went to break the bad news.
He entered the exam room and already it was like his patient knew. She was completely joyless, a stark contrast to all the hopes and dreams he normally sees sparkling in the eyes of the pregnant women he sees every day. She half-stood when he entered the room, hand automatically supporting her back at the movement, but he waved her down and sat across from her.
He looked at her seriously and said “I always find that women prefer that I don’t beat around the bush” and he winced internally at how his voice changed. Usually upbeat and friendly, he used a lower pitch and a calming tone as though he was trying to soothe an animal. Which, he supposed, was not far from the truth. Mothers had that animalistic instinct to protect their babies.
Her eyes darted around the room while she fidgeted with the hem on her dress, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. That made both of them. When she made no acknowledgement of his sentence, he continued. “I’ve just been reading the ultrasound results and … it’s not good news. We found several severe problems with your baby and I’m so sorry, but your baby won’t survive them”.
Finally, she made eye contact with him. The expression changed in an instant … she looked almost hopeful. “What do…” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and started again. “What do you mean, he won’t survive them?”.
“His brain and heart aren’t developing properly. There’s nothing we can do”.
“Nothing at all? Not surgery, or …..” she trailed off, unable to think of an alternative.
“There’s nothing. Again, I’m so sorry.”
He saw the hint of a smile on her face which was quickly suppressed. Although people often reacted with inappropriate emotions during grief, it always startled him to see it.
He continued, “Unfortunately, your pregnancy is much too far advanced for a simple procedure. We will have to admit you into hospital and kick-start your labour”. He paused while waiting for the words to sink in. She gave no sign of understanding so he clarified “We’ll induce you within the week to deliver the baby”.
Finally, a reaction. Anger. Her hand flew to protect her bump and she hissed “You’ll do nothing of the sort. I don’t agree to any of that and you can’t force me. I know my rights!”
Holding both hands up, palms out in surrender, the obstetrician hurriedly explained “I understand, and you’ve every right to choose that, but this little baby will not survive very long after birth no matter when he’s born. There’s just no point….”
“No point? No POINT?! Of course there’s a fucking POINT! I’ve done everything I could possibly DO to get pregnant, you fucking piece of shit, don’t you fucking DARE tell me there’s no point!”
Thinking it best to say nothing, the obstetrician sat silently and waited for the patient to calm herself. When the silence got too much for him to bear, he opened his mouth to speak when she said quietly, “32 weeks and 2 days. That’s when we’ll induce it.”
Perplexed, he slowly said “wellllllll .. the thing is, there’s really no difference if we do it now or…”
She slammed her palm on his desk, making him startle in surprise. “That’s when we’ll induce it. 32 weeks and 2 days”.
“Well, we can discuss it at another appointment. I think it would be beneficial for you to make an appointment with our counselling service first…” and he rummaged to find their business card.
“No need.” Abrupt, and cold.
The obstetrician looked up from his desk and met her eyes. “Well, what about family…? The father….?”
“No”.
He sighed and acquiesced. “Okay, 32 weeks and 2 days. That will put the date at….” He checked his calendar on his computer then stopped cold.
“July 21st”.
She nodded, the hint of a smile flickering across her lips once more.
“That’s the day, innit?" she said. "When Duvall reaches 10 years.” Once more she rubs at her bump, but this time quite indulgently. “This little one will make me ten grand richer, and now I won’t have to spend a penny on it”. She grinned, seeing the shock on the obstetrician’s face. “Mind if I smoke?”.
| Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | Luckily, I was out hiking alone when the news came in. I had enough food for a week and, with a little ingenuity I could make that stretch to two.
More importantly though, I could get 3G on my phone.
I made the call. It took me three escalations before I could get the go ahead. Then the CFO ended up putting me on hold for ten minutes.
"Mr. Taylor? I spoke to legal and they think you're on solid ground, so I say go for it".
It didn't take me long to build the Kickstarter page - there was just one reward - $10,000 - and all you had to do was donate (recommended amount $10).
It was quite simple really. All I needed to do was raise $20m. Then hire two bodyguards at a rate of $1m a year for ten years (with a legally watertight contract that would involve them paying the $20m to my family if they were involved in my death in any way). Everybody wins.
The Kickstarter ended up raising $76.3M - by far the largest pot raised. Everybody wins.
Kickstarter got a cool $10m in fees, my bodyguards would each get $10m, everyone else gets $10,000, and get to enjoy $40m and change. Everybody wins. Everybody.
The two professional bodyguards were waiting for me at the edge of the forest. Legal had ensured everything was watertight - if they decided to kill me, they lost everything. Lawyers - actually worth their money for once.
I learned pretty early how to blend in. I liked traveling anyway, so decided to spend the decade traversing the world. Machu Picu, Antarctica, Africa - we took our time. And, as the years progressed, our confidence grew.
The week before the 10 years ended, I received the invitation to the payment ceremony. The bodyguards and I were obviously proud of what we'd achieved. We prepped for our trip to New York. No complacency. I wore bulletproof clothing, and we decided (last minute) to fly directly to the roof of the hotel.
Landing on the roof, the night before the ceremony, we were greeted in our suite by the Foundation's President, Gordon Peterson. "Mr Taylor, I am so excited to meet you. Nobody has ever lasted more than a few weeks, but... Well, here we are". He shook my hand vigorously, then turned to my bodyguards shaking their hands too while thanking them profusely for a job well done.
We sat on couches, in a circle. Gordon started telling us about the mathematics behind the idea. "The ten million is a great motivator, and we usually have an enjoyable few weeks when our syndicate's members bet on the outcome and we reap in commissions on these bets that more than cover the outlay. Everybody has a great time. Everybody. Until now. If you claim your prize tomorrow, you would bankrupt the syndicate, and I'm afraid I can't let you do that".
I went to raise my hand in disagreement, only to find my arms couldn't move. I couldn't move a muscle. The shock must have registered on my face, because when Gordon caught my eye, he simply said, "Neurotoxin".
"Did you even stop to do the math? $10,000 x seven billion people! How could that ever work. Greedy stupid people! Duh! "
And with that he performed a loud face-palm, followed by a very quiet, "Oh shit". The pinpoint from his signet ring on his forehead started to inflame. He'd never used the poison before, and it had slipped his mind in the excitement.
We all sat there, in silence, for a very long time.
| Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | I'm retrospect the bounty on my head is kind of my own fault.
But then again, the Pentagon? The Department of Defense? Hell, the CIA? They're all dicks.
I offered them the world's first functioning unbreakable force field. My first invention I was finally willing to part with. At my sales pitch they seemed interested, at least until I listed my price. They said they could never pay for it, at least not without further testing. I'm guessing they came up with this test when I suggested I might sell to China instead. Very funny guys. Sure it might have been a bit "traitorous" or whatever, but how else was I gonna be able to buy all the parts I need for my new project? (No, I won't tell you what is. But it rhymes with "mime tachine".)
The good news is no one will get through the force field. I know my own handiwork, and it never fails. After all, there's a reason I'm the only one in the world with a doctorate in Quantum Engineering, Advanced Robotics+, and Ultra Physics. The suckers at the edge of my yard will be horribly disappointed.
Perhaps I could convince them to leave. I mean, they'd still get their 10 G's, and I'd be that much less annoyed. Win-win, right? All I need is to grab my megaphone and finally utilize my economics minor to explain how we're all better off this way.
On second thought, death ray and killer robots? Yeah, let's go with death ray and killer robots. | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | (My first Prompt here. English isn't even my first language :P )
'Good afternoon, students.' As our professor spoke up. 'We will continue where we left off yesterday, at page...'
BANG
Oh look. Another assassination attempt on Dr. Ludwig.
Dr. Ludwig stopped to look at the assassin, who was holding a smoking pistol. The assassin fired another two shots at the professor's chest, hitting him. Dr. Ludwig, per usual, didn't flinch at all, as he slowly walked up to his assassinator and knocked him out.
The assassinator, whose face was filled with dread and confusion, was dragged away by Dr. Ludwig from the higher end of the Lecture Hall to the whiteboard, where he stood.
Even after 7 years and 168 days, people were still trying to collect the bounty on his head. They tried millions of things. From Baseball Bats, to Gas Chambers, to throwing him out of an airlock. He survived all of them. For whatever reason, he was immortal.
And really, that's why we would sit through his lessons. To, hopefully, learn how to be immortal. I was supposed to be in Egypt, healing my co-workers, who are probably in the middle of massacring robots.
Dr. Ludwig went on. 'As I was saying, we will continue on page 76, on the structure of the device, to further understand human tissue damage.'
________________________________________________________________
*
*
*
*
Who wants to live forever?
I did. I once did. And immortality and invincibility has come to me.
Well, technically, I caused the 'invincibility' part. But, that would be another story, Ja?
In the early 1940s, I signed a deal with the Devil. He gave me a successful career as a combat medic and allowed me to look like I was 32 for the rest of my life. During this period, I created a device that could quickly regenerate tissue damage and make people temporarily invincible.
I was happy and content. Until 1973, when I died.
I met the Devil once again. He nearly made me end up in hell. Until I convinced him that I could not be sent to hell due to me surgically implanting several extra souls in myself. So he made me immortal, saying that it was a 'fate worse than death'. I had no idea what he meant back then.
Unfortunately, now I have. The first few decades were quite fun actually, as I ran more and more experiments on myself and my unfortunate test subjects.
But as I got older, life got boring. By ridding myself of my ability to die, I have found that all meaning in life has been lost. There were simply no more stakes to my life. What is life’s significance without death? It has none.
I tried to shoot myself in the head. Didn’t work. Remember how I said that I had created a device capable of making me invincible? Well, apparently prolonged exposure makes the invincibility permanent.
‘Misha, drag him onto the table. Und, call Miss Ziegler to come over. We have another subject.’
Misha was someone who worked with me. Well, he still does. He’s immortal as well. Doesn’t seem to bother him though. He’s been helping me get rid of my immortality. In fact, it was he who convinced me to quit drinking and figure out a way for me to remove my immortality.
‘Da.’
And so I spent the next 55 or so years researching on mortality. While others were finding out how to generate it, I tried to destroy mine. By the mid-2060s I had already started to get desperate. This is where Dr. Ziegler comes in.
She’s a world renowned doctor whose obsession with immortality rivals my desire to remove it. When she got wind about a doctor who has been 32 years old for 110 years, she called me and asked for my help. I accepted on one condition. (Surely, an extra set of hands couldn’t hurt, right?)
My condition was to get people to kill me. Hopefully, 10 million dollars would get people to try and get through my invincibility, right?
Apparently not. Either way, Miss Ziegler used her position at some high-end group to convince Germany that getting the world to kill one of their citizens was a good idea.
So there. Now if you excuse me, I have to conduct an operation.
‘Good afternoon Mr Walker. Walther PPK. Interesting choice of weaponry. Tell me, where did you get this antique?’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to die. Luckily, you may be of assistance.’
I proceeded to cut open the guy’s chest, and pull out his beating heart.
________________________________________________________________
*
*
*
*
Who wouldn’t want to live forever?
As I walk down the hallway echoing with screams, I look on the upper right corner of my glasses.
‘Conducting experiment 1138. Be here.’
It seems that Dr. Ludwig had begun without me. What a pity.
I used to think that Dr. Ludwig was a madman. Now, I see we share similar ideals.
We both have much curiosity, and will stop at nothing to satisfy it. We both consider the Hippocratic Oath as bull. We also lack compassion for our patients, or respect for human dignity.
But, he considers healing to be an untended side effect of his creations. I just want to reincarnate my long dead parents. I don't care what it will take, I just want the people who tell me bedtime stories to return.
I’ve tried everything. And Dr. Ludwig here is the closest to the answer. That's why I'm willing to put aside my job as a Healer and sit through his lessons.
‘Will arrive in 2 minutes’
'Is that the assassin from the lecture'
Who doesn’t want to live forever? | Every bone in my body ached as i cautiosly peered out into the dark, desolate open space of the factory floor in the building that had given me three precious, glorious soul replenishing days.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Thinking back to when this endless torment began.
17 of May 2028 I woke up to having been selected, to my delight. Everybody wanted money.
17 of May 2029 I get up to to to the bathroom and walk into my mom setting up a snare right by the bathroom door, by her feet she has an inactive bear trap.
My vision becomes blurry for an instant and I feel very nauseous.
"Mom?"
"I love you Nathan but they told us to wait."
"..They what, who?"
A tear rolls down my mothers check, her eyes filled with remorse and love
"They said wait, Wait a year. I thought better I do it than a stranger. They say we have to play."
Mother reaches in through the bathroom door, she looks at me, she plunges at me, screaming, raising a pair of scissors.
"Nate, Nate!"
I snap out of it.
With a rush I dash towards the safe corner. I only have 23 bullets to my Beretta M9.
"Come out to pla-aaaay, NATE!"
I cautiosly crawl over to the closest window.
"OK, 5 guys approaching from this side, 70 meters away, I have three traps on each.." My peripheral vision spots a black blob.
"Trap"
*Shot fired*
A group of 12 men and woman approach and surround Nathan's bleeding wheezing body, all dressed in home made semi ghilie suite.
"I don't even feel good about this, I can't believe you missed"
"It was not you chilling outside the Window for 30 hours. It messes with my aim."
"We had to be sure"
Nathan coughs up a splat of blood, wheezingly, gurgles out.
"One week..."
|
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | "The Chosen was killed this afternoon," my wife murmured, scrolling through her phone.
A tense silence fell on the room. The show we were streaming cut to their commercials and "We'll be right back" was on the screen.
"Are you nervous, daddy?" my one daughter asked. Our twin girls knew what this news meant despite only being 4 years old, but were so informed of the situation because of its greater frequency in the news lately.
"No.... not yet."
The envelope was always delivered with fanfare: news cameras, reporters, helicopters, and a police escort. You and everybody in the country knew where the convoy was as soon as it rolled out. The government-sponsored "Convoy Tracker Pro" was a mandatory install on every smartphone.
Every intersection it reached filled people with anticipation. "Who is it?" was the most common question since the individual's identity was only known by a select few. They could be anyone: your neighbor, your boss, your spouse; the whole country didn't know for sure until the convoy came to a halt.
Naturally, the convoy was tailed by hundreds and thousands of civilian vehicles filled with folks eager to exact their manufactured revenge at the earliest possible moment. As the convoy passes through towns and cities, it grows for miles until the destination is reached. This Chosen had grave importance for the nation; the convoy was the biggest it had ever been.
After the commercial break, the show we were watching was replaced by this raucous carnival of vitriol. Reporters were especially solemn and the eager followers were chanting "So close!" out their car windows. The news faces could be seen mouthing along.
As we kept up with the coverage, the convoy appeared to be creeping in our direction. I couldn't tell yet, but my family knew where to run in the event that I was the one they were coming for.
"Are they coming for you, daddy?"
"Only time will tell, honey. Don't you worry."
The convoy rolled through the town just before ours on Route 398. From the porch we could faintly hear the roars of the thousands of vehicles passing through the tiny, worn-down mining town. All our neighbors came out to their porches as well, well aware of the situation like everyone else.
The convoy turned off the main road and started down our street towards our cul-de-sac.
It was time.
"Do as we've practiced!" I scolded at my wife and daughters. They scurried into the bunker beneath the house hidden behind the washer and dryer. They didn't know yet but their safety was of the utmost importance to me.
The lead van stopped dead in the middle of the cul-de-sac; it did not turn to park in front of any particular house but rather stayed true to the road it came in on. Helicopters hovered low and the trees were being blown around, launching leaves and branches every which way. The civilian convoy drivers and riders began to queue on either side of the convoy escorts. A man stepped out of the van and began walking towards my house.
The "So close" chants intensified with every step the man took. As he stepped up the stairs of my porch, I came outside to greet him. The cameras, lights, and all eyes in the country were fixated on me and this man. He addressed me.
"I was beginning to think I wouldn't have to deliver this envelope, Mr. Blum. There are a lot of people behind me who will soon want you dead, if not already want you dead." He snickered.
"I am aware." I said with a smirk.
"Cocky one are we? It takes a man with serious balls to be in your shoes right now, and to be smug about it nonetheless." He tapped his breast pocket where the envelope was located and began to fish it out.
The cul-de-sac was covered with people. There was no glimmer of evening dew on the grass, no view of the sidewalk or street. Every square inch of my neighborhood was packed with people; people who were all here to see me. I could only think of my family at this time, how they would be able to take this moment and become stronger from it.
The man opened the envelope and unfolded its contents, turned to the crowd and cameras and began reading the cover letter aloud.
"On this day, March 24, 2073, by official decree, Mr. Albert Blum has recognized as the 17th Killer of the Chosen, bringing down the Chosen after 9 years, 11 months, and 21 days. Mr. Blum is hereby granted the award of $10 Million, free of tax, to do with what he pleases. The new Chosen, as is custom, shall be selected exclusively by the Killer of the Chosen upon the receipt of his award."
The crowd was reluctantly cleared from my driveway and the van was parked in my garage. The man and I walked around and I inspected my spoils. Satisfied, we walked out and the garage began to close.
As the garage door closed behind us the man, shouting over the undulating crowd noise, asked, "Do you have any ideas who you are going to select?"
I paused as I got to the top step of my porch. The door was locked and I had left my keys inside. I knocked on the door heavily, signaling to my family that it was safe to emerge from hiding.
I turned to the man and confidently resumed the smirk from earlier.
"I've had some things pass through my head."
The man's face reeled.
I pulled the 9mm out of my mailbox and put it to my temple. "It's time to end this fucking tradition." | I look the woman in the eye as the gun in her hand trembles furiously. Off to the side there is a guy with a ski mask on holding a camcorder probably to have definitive proof of my death so they could claim their "Reward" fucking government putting a hit out for me.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this please don't move I will make it quick." you could hear how scared she was I just sat silent contemplating the after life. This was it I guess.
"Why do you need to kill me. You do know that if you let me live everyone in the world will be rewarded 10 grand each so between the two of you there is 20 grand and if you have kids there is even more." I don't know why I was pleading I could see in her eyes that she didn't care.
"Goodbye I lo..."
BANG!
3 Months later
"On this day we the people grant you Mrs. Thomas 10 million dollars for the murder of Grant William Thomas. Do you except this reward?"
"Yes thank you sir." A tear rolled down her cheek as she walked off stage with her giant piece of cardboard and a frame with gold plating on the inlay with a picture of the man she killed. As she walked off stage the crowd watched the giant white screen light up from the projector and the video of Grant's murder began playing. She wiped the tears and stiffened up and walked off. As she approaches a curb a van pulls up she giggles and hops in the man driving grabs the picture and laughs.
"It's uncanny how much we look alike."
END
I don't write so if there are tons of issues in this sorry. I just wanted to write this because it seemed fun thanks for reading. |
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | And there she was. The love of my life, my reason for living, aiming a gun straight at my chest.
"Bill...are you sure?"
"Susie, sweetie, it's okay. It really is."
"B-but I don't know if I can..."
"You can. You will."
I step right up close to her. The barrel pokes into my sternum, and an unwilling flash of fear hits my gut. Never mind. Ignore it.
"You *have* to."
"...What do I tell him? He's going to ask me Bill, what the hell am I going to say to him-"
"Tell him whatever you want. Well, i-if you don't mind, tell him his Dad died trying to be brave. He won't blame you. I don't. And *you* better not."
"Bill..." Tears. Those are tears for me. God, she looks beautiful.
"I love you sweetie."
**BANG**
Johnny, if you can hear me, it's your Dad. You're gonna wake up real soon, Mom's gonna take care of everything. She'll bring you home, she'll get you the surgeries, everything's already taken care of. I love you kiddo. Take care of your mom. | I look the woman in the eye as the gun in her hand trembles furiously. Off to the side there is a guy with a ski mask on holding a camcorder probably to have definitive proof of my death so they could claim their "Reward" fucking government putting a hit out for me.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this please don't move I will make it quick." you could hear how scared she was I just sat silent contemplating the after life. This was it I guess.
"Why do you need to kill me. You do know that if you let me live everyone in the world will be rewarded 10 grand each so between the two of you there is 20 grand and if you have kids there is even more." I don't know why I was pleading I could see in her eyes that she didn't care.
"Goodbye I lo..."
BANG!
3 Months later
"On this day we the people grant you Mrs. Thomas 10 million dollars for the murder of Grant William Thomas. Do you except this reward?"
"Yes thank you sir." A tear rolled down her cheek as she walked off stage with her giant piece of cardboard and a frame with gold plating on the inlay with a picture of the man she killed. As she walked off stage the crowd watched the giant white screen light up from the projector and the video of Grant's murder began playing. She wiped the tears and stiffened up and walked off. As she approaches a curb a van pulls up she giggles and hops in the man driving grabs the picture and laughs.
"It's uncanny how much we look alike."
END
I don't write so if there are tons of issues in this sorry. I just wanted to write this because it seemed fun thanks for reading. |
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | It was not a difficult decision. Well, Mathematically at least.
I turned off my inserts. It’s funny how jarring it feels to disconnect from everything around you once you are used to the chips communicating and managing every aspect of your life. I wonder what our ancestors felt when they didn’t have chips managing lights, air conditioners, air customizers, and other common accessories for them. Must be tiresome to keep adjusting the temperature control without the inserts automatically adjusting them to ideal body temperature constantly. Couldn’t stay in this state for long, everyone will find out immediately. A void, on the day of selection, gets noticed easily.
You see, that’s what the first few did. In an attempt to hide, they disconnected from the world completely. Felt like an obvious solution. Disconnect for 10 years and collect the prize. $10,000,000 is a reasonable compensation for enduring 10 years without technology and the Amish do live without it. It’s not like disconnecting is illegal or something. However, on the day of the selection, if you disappear, you become the most obvious suspect. You will find that relatives, co-workers, friends, everyone wants to touch you. Physical touch, so they can hear the anticipated ding, and claim the prize. $10,000,000 is a reasonable compensation for sacrificing an acquaintance after all. All you have to do is call a few friends, besiege the prey, and earn enough for a lifetime. I myself had fantasized about finding the previous targets. $10,000,000. It’s a huge sum.
It's not like I blame them. I wouldn’t attempt to physically meet others either if there wasn’t an incentive to do so. Perfect android companions can conform to feel, texture, and voice of many celebrities. Why would you want to meet average people? Children are extremely expensive anyways. Honestly, not worth it for a few minutes of fun. The game became the only way for governments to get people to meet and touch each other physically. Anyone shunning such physical touch, especially if it happened after the selection, became suspicious. Family dinners, BBQ parties, romantic evenings, all became excuses to develop relationships so that people could develop a justification to touch.
10 minutes have passed. Statistically, I have 5 more before Angela should come in. I have timed her before. On average, she takes 15 minutes to come down. Standard deviation is approximately 1 minutes. There is a 95% chance she will come between 13 to 17 minutes. My ability to be precise is the characteristic I take most pride in after all. You see, I have always been good with numbers.
When I went to college, Mathematics was one of the last bastion of human creativity. They said computers cannot develop proofs like we do since it requires a type of intelligence that they lack. Felt obvious at the time to get my degree in abstract Mathematics. Well, even those jobs are starting to disappear now. Turns out creativity isn’t all that difficult to model after all.
It is not a difficult decision. I neatly fold the letter and place it on the table. It will explain to her that I am the target so she can call and claim her prize before others reach. That should take an average of 30 more minutes with a standard deviation of 5 minutes. The letter is short. She will only have 3-7 minutes to get over her shock, read the letter, and make the call. In the worstcase scenario, she may not even have that much time. Well, I cannot control everything I guess. $10,000,000 is a huge sum after all. I want her to have it. She is not the most beautiful but she has been my girlfriend for past few years. None of the past targets survived 10 years. Might as well end the misery now and let her claim the win.
It was not a difficult decision. Well, Mathematically at least.
P.S: It is (m)y first time. Be gentle. | I look the woman in the eye as the gun in her hand trembles furiously. Off to the side there is a guy with a ski mask on holding a camcorder probably to have definitive proof of my death so they could claim their "Reward" fucking government putting a hit out for me.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this please don't move I will make it quick." you could hear how scared she was I just sat silent contemplating the after life. This was it I guess.
"Why do you need to kill me. You do know that if you let me live everyone in the world will be rewarded 10 grand each so between the two of you there is 20 grand and if you have kids there is even more." I don't know why I was pleading I could see in her eyes that she didn't care.
"Goodbye I lo..."
BANG!
3 Months later
"On this day we the people grant you Mrs. Thomas 10 million dollars for the murder of Grant William Thomas. Do you except this reward?"
"Yes thank you sir." A tear rolled down her cheek as she walked off stage with her giant piece of cardboard and a frame with gold plating on the inlay with a picture of the man she killed. As she walked off stage the crowd watched the giant white screen light up from the projector and the video of Grant's murder began playing. She wiped the tears and stiffened up and walked off. As she approaches a curb a van pulls up she giggles and hops in the man driving grabs the picture and laughs.
"It's uncanny how much we look alike."
END
I don't write so if there are tons of issues in this sorry. I just wanted to write this because it seemed fun thanks for reading. |
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | I was out of town when my name came up on the news. Thank god they never included a picture, at least not on the first day. They didn’t want to make it *too* easy. If they had, I surely would have been shot in the mall where I stood, numbly staring at the TV on the store wall.
 
I should have been prepared; I knew they would be announcing someone new today. The poor bastard before me had been killed yesterday in the midafternoon, and by his own son no less. They always broadcast the next victim the day after.
 
Since the government had started the Culling six months ago, nearly two hundred had died. No one made it more than a few days. The absolute greed of humanity had laid itself bare, and I truly believed that this was the mark of our doom as a species.
 
It seemed to me that the mainstream media had been on the right track on the way the world was going. The entire concept sounded like some over the top writing prompt for a dystopian novel for Christ’s sake! I mean, a ten million dollar manhunt on random citizens televised on national news? The entire idea seemed too insane to be real. When first I heard of it I firmly believed I would see Margaret Atwood step out from behind the curtain and announce her new book. That was, until the first one was killed, followed by another two dozen over the next month. Those first fifty dropped like flies, nearly all of them killed on the first day. The lucky ones like me were in neighbouring towns when they were announced, and if they caught the news, they had a 24 hour head start to get into hiding before their picture went up.
 
After a few long minutes, that felt more like days, I recovered myself and looked around me. I had been staring at the TV too long; the others that had been waiting for the name to be put up had now mostly dispersed, though as I turned around, a few shoppers eyed me suspiciously, some looking a little hungrily at my recently unfrozen form.
 
As casually as I could, I began to walk towards the exit, forcing all of my willpower into not looking behind me, sure that to do so would signal my fear. As I neared the exit, I checked the glass reflection for anyone following me. No one in sight, but that shouldn't make me complacent. Not all Hunters made themselves that obvious.
 
A brisk walk across the lot and I was in my thankfully bland and very forgettable beige Corolla, and leaving the shopping mall. I was in the clear. For now.
 
Hours later after having filled my tank on a pickpocketed credit card, I was on the freeway to the next state. Home was a sad memory, and if I hoped to make it more than the usual few days, I needed to get far away; away from home, from any large towns, into the wilderness.
 
It was now late at night, I had about 10 hours till the morning news, accompanied by my picture. I pressed down further on the gas and drove on, coming to a long hill sloping gently upwards. As I crested the top, my heart nearly stopped- brake lights. For miles. Willing myself not to panic, I looked around for a way off the main road. This had been a stupid idea, the backroads were slower but far safer.
 
Heart pounding in my chest, I finally saw it, a gap in the side barrier that led off to a shallow ditch and a field, with the soft lights of some small town in the distance. Hope, dangerous, wild hope burned briefly in my chest.
 
I eased my way across the three lanes of traffic and slowly the traffic inched forward to the gap sought. Minutes later, I was there. Turning my wheels sharply to the right, I turned off my headlights and left the paved road. I would just have to hope my poor tired Corolla would make it through the tilled dirt of the mile or so of field.
 
Once I had escaped reasonable earshot of the vehicles stopped on the freeway, I floored it, and spat dirt out the back tires as I raced across the open field in near total darkness. If I weren't so terrified, it might have been thrilling, the insanity of it all. And I might have also noticed the black SUV that turned and followed me through the same gap in the freeway wall.
 
**END OF PART 1**
EDIT: changed a word, formatting | I look the woman in the eye as the gun in her hand trembles furiously. Off to the side there is a guy with a ski mask on holding a camcorder probably to have definitive proof of my death so they could claim their "Reward" fucking government putting a hit out for me.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this please don't move I will make it quick." you could hear how scared she was I just sat silent contemplating the after life. This was it I guess.
"Why do you need to kill me. You do know that if you let me live everyone in the world will be rewarded 10 grand each so between the two of you there is 20 grand and if you have kids there is even more." I don't know why I was pleading I could see in her eyes that she didn't care.
"Goodbye I lo..."
BANG!
3 Months later
"On this day we the people grant you Mrs. Thomas 10 million dollars for the murder of Grant William Thomas. Do you except this reward?"
"Yes thank you sir." A tear rolled down her cheek as she walked off stage with her giant piece of cardboard and a frame with gold plating on the inlay with a picture of the man she killed. As she walked off stage the crowd watched the giant white screen light up from the projector and the video of Grant's murder began playing. She wiped the tears and stiffened up and walked off. As she approaches a curb a van pulls up she giggles and hops in the man driving grabs the picture and laughs.
"It's uncanny how much we look alike."
END
I don't write so if there are tons of issues in this sorry. I just wanted to write this because it seemed fun thanks for reading. |
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | This day started out so well. I was at the game and the Bills were actually winning for a change when an announcement came across the titantron at halftime. I thought it was some kind of joke at first. There was my face along with some Hispanic chick and it said President Trump put a bounty out on the heads of me and that poor girl. If somebody kills me in the next 10 years they get $10,000,000 and if I survive everybody in the world gets $10,000. Everybody at the stadium got quiet and started mumbling about the stupidity of it when everybody's cellphones started going off with the same notification.
I stood up and tried sneaking away because all it takes is one person to think this was serious to put a bullet in my head. I was heading towards the exit when the pointing started and before I knew it I was on all the screens around the stadium. A shiver runs up my spine as the murmuring started turning into a roar and I started to run. I didn't get far when a fist smashed into my face and I blacked out.
When I came to I was positive I was in hell. There was screaming everywhere and I was having a hard time seeing with the water flowing into my eyes and it was so hot. I try to reach up to wipe the water from my eyes but all I felt was a white hot pain race up my right arm. Broken. I reach up with my left and manage to wipe away the water and when I can see my hand comes away red. As bad as that was what I see surrounding me is so much worse. Thousands of people are rioting and I get kicked in the back and I struggle to breath. I'm still in the stadium and not only is everybody trying to kill me they're fighting each other as well trying to get to me. Another person stomps on my ankle and I come to my senses and try to get the fuck out of there.
I scramble towards the exit getting kicked and grabbed at and it seems like soon as somebody gets a hold on me they're forced to let go by some other murderous fan trying to kill me. I don't know how many times I'm kicked, punched, and gouged but I manage to make it out of the stands and find myself in the concession area and can finally stand up. God my arm hurts so much and my left ankle isn't much better but I can put some weight on it. It's oddly empty down here but the noise up above me is getting louder. The screams sounds like the fiery pits of hell. I'm rushing as fast as I can towards the parking lot and a few blood soaked people managed to get down here through the bottleneck and they paid for it. The closest is a man that's missing his arm at the elbow and it's spurting blood. He's still coming after me. I stumble around him and he manages to grab my broken arm with his one remaining and I punch him in the face and feel his nose crunch under my fist. He lets go and I rush towards the exit. Right when I get outside I run into a couple of police officers.
"Thank god, You have to help me. Everybody is trying to kill me over a stupid joke!"
One of the officers look at me and then looks at her partner and says "Sorry sir but it's not a joke." Her and her partner draw their guns and point them at me when he says "Go for center mass, we need his face recognizable for the reward." They each fire three rounds.
I collapse on the ground and start gurgling blood trying to breath. Why did this happen? I'm so cold and can't breath and I see the female officer standing over me and she's crying. "I'm so sorry, but 5 million dollars is a lot of money" She puts three more rounds in my chest and my vision starts going black. The last thing I see and hear is a gunshot and blood spurting out the side of her head.
| I look the woman in the eye as the gun in her hand trembles furiously. Off to the side there is a guy with a ski mask on holding a camcorder probably to have definitive proof of my death so they could claim their "Reward" fucking government putting a hit out for me.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this please don't move I will make it quick." you could hear how scared she was I just sat silent contemplating the after life. This was it I guess.
"Why do you need to kill me. You do know that if you let me live everyone in the world will be rewarded 10 grand each so between the two of you there is 20 grand and if you have kids there is even more." I don't know why I was pleading I could see in her eyes that she didn't care.
"Goodbye I lo..."
BANG!
3 Months later
"On this day we the people grant you Mrs. Thomas 10 million dollars for the murder of Grant William Thomas. Do you except this reward?"
"Yes thank you sir." A tear rolled down her cheek as she walked off stage with her giant piece of cardboard and a frame with gold plating on the inlay with a picture of the man she killed. As she walked off stage the crowd watched the giant white screen light up from the projector and the video of Grant's murder began playing. She wiped the tears and stiffened up and walked off. As she approaches a curb a van pulls up she giggles and hops in the man driving grabs the picture and laughs.
"It's uncanny how much we look alike."
END
I don't write so if there are tons of issues in this sorry. I just wanted to write this because it seemed fun thanks for reading. |
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | Only 30 more seconds…
The past 10 years have been an absolute nightmare. The bounty placed on my head has turned everyone against me. My wife, my parents, my family and friends have all tried to kill me for their own benefit. Where do I go from here?
Only 20 more seconds…
Should I go back home and act like nothing ever happened? Should I try to start over new?
For once I really do think that there is no one else in the world who could relate or be able to help me. I am officially alone now…
Only 10 more seconds…
The only thing I know for certain is that this will help a lot of people. Sure $10,000 may not be anything to retire on for some people, but this will give many the ability to feel some comfort, get a starter home, buy that car, start a college savings plan. Maybe even a lot of them will donate to charity! In third world countries they’ll be able to eat, possibly even get access to medical supplies.
This was the right thing after all. One person suffers… but the rest benefit. I can put myself among the ranks of other divine fighters such as Jesus Christ and Martin Luther King Jr.
Time…
It’s over… it’s finally done.
The door creaks as I turn the handle and push it open. The sun’s warmth on my face…I’ve missed this for so long… to enjoy the simple things.
I open my eyes to see the beautiful scenery around me.
I am surrounded by what feels like everyone… Guns, knives, and various homemade weapons…
It was at this moment I realized my watch may have been a little fast…
| I look the woman in the eye as the gun in her hand trembles furiously. Off to the side there is a guy with a ski mask on holding a camcorder probably to have definitive proof of my death so they could claim their "Reward" fucking government putting a hit out for me.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this please don't move I will make it quick." you could hear how scared she was I just sat silent contemplating the after life. This was it I guess.
"Why do you need to kill me. You do know that if you let me live everyone in the world will be rewarded 10 grand each so between the two of you there is 20 grand and if you have kids there is even more." I don't know why I was pleading I could see in her eyes that she didn't care.
"Goodbye I lo..."
BANG!
3 Months later
"On this day we the people grant you Mrs. Thomas 10 million dollars for the murder of Grant William Thomas. Do you except this reward?"
"Yes thank you sir." A tear rolled down her cheek as she walked off stage with her giant piece of cardboard and a frame with gold plating on the inlay with a picture of the man she killed. As she walked off stage the crowd watched the giant white screen light up from the projector and the video of Grant's murder began playing. She wiped the tears and stiffened up and walked off. As she approaches a curb a van pulls up she giggles and hops in the man driving grabs the picture and laughs.
"It's uncanny how much we look alike."
END
I don't write so if there are tons of issues in this sorry. I just wanted to write this because it seemed fun thanks for reading. |
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | Luckily, I was out hiking alone when the news came in. I had enough food for a week and, with a little ingenuity I could make that stretch to two.
More importantly though, I could get 3G on my phone.
I made the call. It took me three escalations before I could get the go ahead. Then the CFO ended up putting me on hold for ten minutes.
"Mr. Taylor? I spoke to legal and they think you're on solid ground, so I say go for it".
It didn't take me long to build the Kickstarter page - there was just one reward - $10,000 - and all you had to do was donate (recommended amount $10).
It was quite simple really. All I needed to do was raise $20m. Then hire two bodyguards at a rate of $1m a year for ten years (with a legally watertight contract that would involve them paying the $20m to my family if they were involved in my death in any way). Everybody wins.
The Kickstarter ended up raising $76.3M - by far the largest pot raised. Everybody wins.
Kickstarter got a cool $10m in fees, my bodyguards would each get $10m, everyone else gets $10,000, and get to enjoy $40m and change. Everybody wins. Everybody.
The two professional bodyguards were waiting for me at the edge of the forest. Legal had ensured everything was watertight - if they decided to kill me, they lost everything. Lawyers - actually worth their money for once.
I learned pretty early how to blend in. I liked traveling anyway, so decided to spend the decade traversing the world. Machu Picu, Antarctica, Africa - we took our time. And, as the years progressed, our confidence grew.
The week before the 10 years ended, I received the invitation to the payment ceremony. The bodyguards and I were obviously proud of what we'd achieved. We prepped for our trip to New York. No complacency. I wore bulletproof clothing, and we decided (last minute) to fly directly to the roof of the hotel.
Landing on the roof, the night before the ceremony, we were greeted in our suite by the Foundation's President, Gordon Peterson. "Mr Taylor, I am so excited to meet you. Nobody has ever lasted more than a few weeks, but... Well, here we are". He shook my hand vigorously, then turned to my bodyguards shaking their hands too while thanking them profusely for a job well done.
We sat on couches, in a circle. Gordon started telling us about the mathematics behind the idea. "The ten million is a great motivator, and we usually have an enjoyable few weeks when our syndicate's members bet on the outcome and we reap in commissions on these bets that more than cover the outlay. Everybody has a great time. Everybody. Until now. If you claim your prize tomorrow, you would bankrupt the syndicate, and I'm afraid I can't let you do that".
I went to raise my hand in disagreement, only to find my arms couldn't move. I couldn't move a muscle. The shock must have registered on my face, because when Gordon caught my eye, he simply said, "Neurotoxin".
"Did you even stop to do the math? $10,000 x seven billion people! How could that ever work. Greedy stupid people! Duh! "
And with that he performed a loud face-palm, followed by a very quiet, "Oh shit". The pinpoint from his signet ring on his forehead started to inflame. He'd never used the poison before, and it had slipped his mind in the excitement.
We all sat there, in silence, for a very long time.
| I look the woman in the eye as the gun in her hand trembles furiously. Off to the side there is a guy with a ski mask on holding a camcorder probably to have definitive proof of my death so they could claim their "Reward" fucking government putting a hit out for me.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this please don't move I will make it quick." you could hear how scared she was I just sat silent contemplating the after life. This was it I guess.
"Why do you need to kill me. You do know that if you let me live everyone in the world will be rewarded 10 grand each so between the two of you there is 20 grand and if you have kids there is even more." I don't know why I was pleading I could see in her eyes that she didn't care.
"Goodbye I lo..."
BANG!
3 Months later
"On this day we the people grant you Mrs. Thomas 10 million dollars for the murder of Grant William Thomas. Do you except this reward?"
"Yes thank you sir." A tear rolled down her cheek as she walked off stage with her giant piece of cardboard and a frame with gold plating on the inlay with a picture of the man she killed. As she walked off stage the crowd watched the giant white screen light up from the projector and the video of Grant's murder began playing. She wiped the tears and stiffened up and walked off. As she approaches a curb a van pulls up she giggles and hops in the man driving grabs the picture and laughs.
"It's uncanny how much we look alike."
END
I don't write so if there are tons of issues in this sorry. I just wanted to write this because it seemed fun thanks for reading. |
|
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | "The Chosen was killed this afternoon," my wife murmured, scrolling through her phone.
A tense silence fell on the room. The show we were streaming cut to their commercials and "We'll be right back" was on the screen.
"Are you nervous, daddy?" my one daughter asked. Our twin girls knew what this news meant despite only being 4 years old, but were so informed of the situation because of its greater frequency in the news lately.
"No.... not yet."
The envelope was always delivered with fanfare: news cameras, reporters, helicopters, and a police escort. You and everybody in the country knew where the convoy was as soon as it rolled out. The government-sponsored "Convoy Tracker Pro" was a mandatory install on every smartphone.
Every intersection it reached filled people with anticipation. "Who is it?" was the most common question since the individual's identity was only known by a select few. They could be anyone: your neighbor, your boss, your spouse; the whole country didn't know for sure until the convoy came to a halt.
Naturally, the convoy was tailed by hundreds and thousands of civilian vehicles filled with folks eager to exact their manufactured revenge at the earliest possible moment. As the convoy passes through towns and cities, it grows for miles until the destination is reached. This Chosen had grave importance for the nation; the convoy was the biggest it had ever been.
After the commercial break, the show we were watching was replaced by this raucous carnival of vitriol. Reporters were especially solemn and the eager followers were chanting "So close!" out their car windows. The news faces could be seen mouthing along.
As we kept up with the coverage, the convoy appeared to be creeping in our direction. I couldn't tell yet, but my family knew where to run in the event that I was the one they were coming for.
"Are they coming for you, daddy?"
"Only time will tell, honey. Don't you worry."
The convoy rolled through the town just before ours on Route 398. From the porch we could faintly hear the roars of the thousands of vehicles passing through the tiny, worn-down mining town. All our neighbors came out to their porches as well, well aware of the situation like everyone else.
The convoy turned off the main road and started down our street towards our cul-de-sac.
It was time.
"Do as we've practiced!" I scolded at my wife and daughters. They scurried into the bunker beneath the house hidden behind the washer and dryer. They didn't know yet but their safety was of the utmost importance to me.
The lead van stopped dead in the middle of the cul-de-sac; it did not turn to park in front of any particular house but rather stayed true to the road it came in on. Helicopters hovered low and the trees were being blown around, launching leaves and branches every which way. The civilian convoy drivers and riders began to queue on either side of the convoy escorts. A man stepped out of the van and began walking towards my house.
The "So close" chants intensified with every step the man took. As he stepped up the stairs of my porch, I came outside to greet him. The cameras, lights, and all eyes in the country were fixated on me and this man. He addressed me.
"I was beginning to think I wouldn't have to deliver this envelope, Mr. Blum. There are a lot of people behind me who will soon want you dead, if not already want you dead." He snickered.
"I am aware." I said with a smirk.
"Cocky one are we? It takes a man with serious balls to be in your shoes right now, and to be smug about it nonetheless." He tapped his breast pocket where the envelope was located and began to fish it out.
The cul-de-sac was covered with people. There was no glimmer of evening dew on the grass, no view of the sidewalk or street. Every square inch of my neighborhood was packed with people; people who were all here to see me. I could only think of my family at this time, how they would be able to take this moment and become stronger from it.
The man opened the envelope and unfolded its contents, turned to the crowd and cameras and began reading the cover letter aloud.
"On this day, March 24, 2073, by official decree, Mr. Albert Blum has recognized as the 17th Killer of the Chosen, bringing down the Chosen after 9 years, 11 months, and 21 days. Mr. Blum is hereby granted the award of $10 Million, free of tax, to do with what he pleases. The new Chosen, as is custom, shall be selected exclusively by the Killer of the Chosen upon the receipt of his award."
The crowd was reluctantly cleared from my driveway and the van was parked in my garage. The man and I walked around and I inspected my spoils. Satisfied, we walked out and the garage began to close.
As the garage door closed behind us the man, shouting over the undulating crowd noise, asked, "Do you have any ideas who you are going to select?"
I paused as I got to the top step of my porch. The door was locked and I had left my keys inside. I knocked on the door heavily, signaling to my family that it was safe to emerge from hiding.
I turned to the man and confidently resumed the smirk from earlier.
"I've had some things pass through my head."
The man's face reeled.
I pulled the 9mm out of my mailbox and put it to my temple. "It's time to end this fucking tradition." | If it hasn't been done yet, would someone write a version of this where the protagonist happens to be fluent in changing identity? Let's say that they are prepared and away from their home when the announcement hits. They completely change appearance, records, and identification. He or she could even have a series of adventures consisting of tampering with the game or walking on the edge now that no one can identify who they are until they choose to switch back when the decade is up. |
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | And there she was. The love of my life, my reason for living, aiming a gun straight at my chest.
"Bill...are you sure?"
"Susie, sweetie, it's okay. It really is."
"B-but I don't know if I can..."
"You can. You will."
I step right up close to her. The barrel pokes into my sternum, and an unwilling flash of fear hits my gut. Never mind. Ignore it.
"You *have* to."
"...What do I tell him? He's going to ask me Bill, what the hell am I going to say to him-"
"Tell him whatever you want. Well, i-if you don't mind, tell him his Dad died trying to be brave. He won't blame you. I don't. And *you* better not."
"Bill..." Tears. Those are tears for me. God, she looks beautiful.
"I love you sweetie."
**BANG**
Johnny, if you can hear me, it's your Dad. You're gonna wake up real soon, Mom's gonna take care of everything. She'll bring you home, she'll get you the surgeries, everything's already taken care of. I love you kiddo. Take care of your mom. | If it hasn't been done yet, would someone write a version of this where the protagonist happens to be fluent in changing identity? Let's say that they are prepared and away from their home when the announcement hits. They completely change appearance, records, and identification. He or she could even have a series of adventures consisting of tampering with the game or walking on the edge now that no one can identify who they are until they choose to switch back when the decade is up. |
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | It was not a difficult decision. Well, Mathematically at least.
I turned off my inserts. It’s funny how jarring it feels to disconnect from everything around you once you are used to the chips communicating and managing every aspect of your life. I wonder what our ancestors felt when they didn’t have chips managing lights, air conditioners, air customizers, and other common accessories for them. Must be tiresome to keep adjusting the temperature control without the inserts automatically adjusting them to ideal body temperature constantly. Couldn’t stay in this state for long, everyone will find out immediately. A void, on the day of selection, gets noticed easily.
You see, that’s what the first few did. In an attempt to hide, they disconnected from the world completely. Felt like an obvious solution. Disconnect for 10 years and collect the prize. $10,000,000 is a reasonable compensation for enduring 10 years without technology and the Amish do live without it. It’s not like disconnecting is illegal or something. However, on the day of the selection, if you disappear, you become the most obvious suspect. You will find that relatives, co-workers, friends, everyone wants to touch you. Physical touch, so they can hear the anticipated ding, and claim the prize. $10,000,000 is a reasonable compensation for sacrificing an acquaintance after all. All you have to do is call a few friends, besiege the prey, and earn enough for a lifetime. I myself had fantasized about finding the previous targets. $10,000,000. It’s a huge sum.
It's not like I blame them. I wouldn’t attempt to physically meet others either if there wasn’t an incentive to do so. Perfect android companions can conform to feel, texture, and voice of many celebrities. Why would you want to meet average people? Children are extremely expensive anyways. Honestly, not worth it for a few minutes of fun. The game became the only way for governments to get people to meet and touch each other physically. Anyone shunning such physical touch, especially if it happened after the selection, became suspicious. Family dinners, BBQ parties, romantic evenings, all became excuses to develop relationships so that people could develop a justification to touch.
10 minutes have passed. Statistically, I have 5 more before Angela should come in. I have timed her before. On average, she takes 15 minutes to come down. Standard deviation is approximately 1 minutes. There is a 95% chance she will come between 13 to 17 minutes. My ability to be precise is the characteristic I take most pride in after all. You see, I have always been good with numbers.
When I went to college, Mathematics was one of the last bastion of human creativity. They said computers cannot develop proofs like we do since it requires a type of intelligence that they lack. Felt obvious at the time to get my degree in abstract Mathematics. Well, even those jobs are starting to disappear now. Turns out creativity isn’t all that difficult to model after all.
It is not a difficult decision. I neatly fold the letter and place it on the table. It will explain to her that I am the target so she can call and claim her prize before others reach. That should take an average of 30 more minutes with a standard deviation of 5 minutes. The letter is short. She will only have 3-7 minutes to get over her shock, read the letter, and make the call. In the worstcase scenario, she may not even have that much time. Well, I cannot control everything I guess. $10,000,000 is a huge sum after all. I want her to have it. She is not the most beautiful but she has been my girlfriend for past few years. None of the past targets survived 10 years. Might as well end the misery now and let her claim the win.
It was not a difficult decision. Well, Mathematically at least.
P.S: It is (m)y first time. Be gentle. | If it hasn't been done yet, would someone write a version of this where the protagonist happens to be fluent in changing identity? Let's say that they are prepared and away from their home when the announcement hits. They completely change appearance, records, and identification. He or she could even have a series of adventures consisting of tampering with the game or walking on the edge now that no one can identify who they are until they choose to switch back when the decade is up. |
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | I was out of town when my name came up on the news. Thank god they never included a picture, at least not on the first day. They didn’t want to make it *too* easy. If they had, I surely would have been shot in the mall where I stood, numbly staring at the TV on the store wall.
 
I should have been prepared; I knew they would be announcing someone new today. The poor bastard before me had been killed yesterday in the midafternoon, and by his own son no less. They always broadcast the next victim the day after.
 
Since the government had started the Culling six months ago, nearly two hundred had died. No one made it more than a few days. The absolute greed of humanity had laid itself bare, and I truly believed that this was the mark of our doom as a species.
 
It seemed to me that the mainstream media had been on the right track on the way the world was going. The entire concept sounded like some over the top writing prompt for a dystopian novel for Christ’s sake! I mean, a ten million dollar manhunt on random citizens televised on national news? The entire idea seemed too insane to be real. When first I heard of it I firmly believed I would see Margaret Atwood step out from behind the curtain and announce her new book. That was, until the first one was killed, followed by another two dozen over the next month. Those first fifty dropped like flies, nearly all of them killed on the first day. The lucky ones like me were in neighbouring towns when they were announced, and if they caught the news, they had a 24 hour head start to get into hiding before their picture went up.
 
After a few long minutes, that felt more like days, I recovered myself and looked around me. I had been staring at the TV too long; the others that had been waiting for the name to be put up had now mostly dispersed, though as I turned around, a few shoppers eyed me suspiciously, some looking a little hungrily at my recently unfrozen form.
 
As casually as I could, I began to walk towards the exit, forcing all of my willpower into not looking behind me, sure that to do so would signal my fear. As I neared the exit, I checked the glass reflection for anyone following me. No one in sight, but that shouldn't make me complacent. Not all Hunters made themselves that obvious.
 
A brisk walk across the lot and I was in my thankfully bland and very forgettable beige Corolla, and leaving the shopping mall. I was in the clear. For now.
 
Hours later after having filled my tank on a pickpocketed credit card, I was on the freeway to the next state. Home was a sad memory, and if I hoped to make it more than the usual few days, I needed to get far away; away from home, from any large towns, into the wilderness.
 
It was now late at night, I had about 10 hours till the morning news, accompanied by my picture. I pressed down further on the gas and drove on, coming to a long hill sloping gently upwards. As I crested the top, my heart nearly stopped- brake lights. For miles. Willing myself not to panic, I looked around for a way off the main road. This had been a stupid idea, the backroads were slower but far safer.
 
Heart pounding in my chest, I finally saw it, a gap in the side barrier that led off to a shallow ditch and a field, with the soft lights of some small town in the distance. Hope, dangerous, wild hope burned briefly in my chest.
 
I eased my way across the three lanes of traffic and slowly the traffic inched forward to the gap sought. Minutes later, I was there. Turning my wheels sharply to the right, I turned off my headlights and left the paved road. I would just have to hope my poor tired Corolla would make it through the tilled dirt of the mile or so of field.
 
Once I had escaped reasonable earshot of the vehicles stopped on the freeway, I floored it, and spat dirt out the back tires as I raced across the open field in near total darkness. If I weren't so terrified, it might have been thrilling, the insanity of it all. And I might have also noticed the black SUV that turned and followed me through the same gap in the freeway wall.
 
**END OF PART 1**
EDIT: changed a word, formatting | If it hasn't been done yet, would someone write a version of this where the protagonist happens to be fluent in changing identity? Let's say that they are prepared and away from their home when the announcement hits. They completely change appearance, records, and identification. He or she could even have a series of adventures consisting of tampering with the game or walking on the edge now that no one can identify who they are until they choose to switch back when the decade is up. |
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[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | This day started out so well. I was at the game and the Bills were actually winning for a change when an announcement came across the titantron at halftime. I thought it was some kind of joke at first. There was my face along with some Hispanic chick and it said President Trump put a bounty out on the heads of me and that poor girl. If somebody kills me in the next 10 years they get $10,000,000 and if I survive everybody in the world gets $10,000. Everybody at the stadium got quiet and started mumbling about the stupidity of it when everybody's cellphones started going off with the same notification.
I stood up and tried sneaking away because all it takes is one person to think this was serious to put a bullet in my head. I was heading towards the exit when the pointing started and before I knew it I was on all the screens around the stadium. A shiver runs up my spine as the murmuring started turning into a roar and I started to run. I didn't get far when a fist smashed into my face and I blacked out.
When I came to I was positive I was in hell. There was screaming everywhere and I was having a hard time seeing with the water flowing into my eyes and it was so hot. I try to reach up to wipe the water from my eyes but all I felt was a white hot pain race up my right arm. Broken. I reach up with my left and manage to wipe away the water and when I can see my hand comes away red. As bad as that was what I see surrounding me is so much worse. Thousands of people are rioting and I get kicked in the back and I struggle to breath. I'm still in the stadium and not only is everybody trying to kill me they're fighting each other as well trying to get to me. Another person stomps on my ankle and I come to my senses and try to get the fuck out of there.
I scramble towards the exit getting kicked and grabbed at and it seems like soon as somebody gets a hold on me they're forced to let go by some other murderous fan trying to kill me. I don't know how many times I'm kicked, punched, and gouged but I manage to make it out of the stands and find myself in the concession area and can finally stand up. God my arm hurts so much and my left ankle isn't much better but I can put some weight on it. It's oddly empty down here but the noise up above me is getting louder. The screams sounds like the fiery pits of hell. I'm rushing as fast as I can towards the parking lot and a few blood soaked people managed to get down here through the bottleneck and they paid for it. The closest is a man that's missing his arm at the elbow and it's spurting blood. He's still coming after me. I stumble around him and he manages to grab my broken arm with his one remaining and I punch him in the face and feel his nose crunch under my fist. He lets go and I rush towards the exit. Right when I get outside I run into a couple of police officers.
"Thank god, You have to help me. Everybody is trying to kill me over a stupid joke!"
One of the officers look at me and then looks at her partner and says "Sorry sir but it's not a joke." Her and her partner draw their guns and point them at me when he says "Go for center mass, we need his face recognizable for the reward." They each fire three rounds.
I collapse on the ground and start gurgling blood trying to breath. Why did this happen? I'm so cold and can't breath and I see the female officer standing over me and she's crying. "I'm so sorry, but 5 million dollars is a lot of money" She puts three more rounds in my chest and my vision starts going black. The last thing I see and hear is a gunshot and blood spurting out the side of her head.
| If it hasn't been done yet, would someone write a version of this where the protagonist happens to be fluent in changing identity? Let's say that they are prepared and away from their home when the announcement hits. They completely change appearance, records, and identification. He or she could even have a series of adventures consisting of tampering with the game or walking on the edge now that no one can identify who they are until they choose to switch back when the decade is up. |
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