Blank, emotionless eyes stared back at me. They would haunt my waking moments and torment me in sleep. The faces and circumstances in my dreams would vary, but the eyes would forever be the same. The same soft gray color would always drain of the light of life as I watch. The same tears of pain would gather, but never fall, as the one who felt such pain died in my arms. Tiny wrinkles at the corner of each eye would smooth out as the muscles relaxed. Then, at that moment, all I can see are the blank, emotionless eyes staring back at me.

The emotional shock is too great for my system. I cannot grieve what I cannot understand. This body, these eyes, don’t have a meaning. They must mean something, must have some connection to me. But the pain - the shock is too great. My mind shudders and shies away from the scene. I go blind and see only darkness.

Sometime later, an eon or a moment, I am being addressed. I can hear the motors running of the ambulances, the police cars, and the news vans. I can hear meaningless murmurs from a crowd. The voice talking to me is also meaningless. I cannot understand the words; they are just another kind of sound.

Hands clasp upon my shoulders. Other hands try to take the body from me. Instinctively I hold on tighter. My mind numbly asks why. Why hold onto this? What does this have to do with you?

How did you come to hold it in the first place?

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

At the last question, I gasp. My body, my hands, release their hold and give up their prize. More words are spoken to me; and then louder when I do not respond. I notice an ache, a burning pain, course from my heart and through my blood, to be released from my eyes and drip down my face. My body mourns what I cannot see; what my mind has hidden from me. Faintly, a logic I do not recognize the source of, tells me that something very important to me is now gone and my life will forever be changed.

Time begins its flowing motion once again. My numbed body is placed into the ambulance and taken to the hospital. A bed in a room is assigned to me for the night. Tubes protrude from my arm; allowing a sweet liquid to fill my veins. At last, my body rests.

Then the dreams begin. I remember only the eyes upon waking. I wake in fear, in sweat, and with screams. Usually, there is a doctor and two nurses in my room. They keep me in the bed. They keep me from running away from the room. Words come at me again, and I am almost able to understand them. But part of me recognizes the words as questions, and I do not wish to answer questions. To answer them, I would have to look at the pain and go through the shock again. Instead, I wonder at my sight. That it returned is not a surprise; it was never really gone. But my sight tells me that I am not in a hospital.

This is a place I have never been. And much time may have passed. I think I am in the crazy place; the asylum. Soon, I will have to face the pain. Soon, I will have to think and live again. But not today.

The doctor says words to me again. I decide that I am not ready. The healing has begun, but I am not yet ready to join the world. Tomorrow will be different. I let the words wash over me. I close my eyes and go back to sleep.