The stairs were roofed and outdoors, with a single stairway to the right as he left his apartment. He forgot to take into account how close he really was from the. As soon as he stepped down, he was flung forward. A sharp scream rang out and tumbled face-first halfway down the flight and then rolled over himself the rest of the way, landing on something soft, fleshy even. He didn’t want to move, his body ached.
That hurts. Why did you do that?
I didn’t purposely roll down the stairs. I think I busted a tooth and a few ribs.
No, you didn’t. You’re just bruised. You knew there were stairs; why didn’t you slow down?
Because I thought they were farther out! And how the hell can you tell how damaged I am?
That is stupidity on your part, not mine. I don’t know, but I would guess it’s ‘cause I’m hooked into your nervous system. I can sense hormones, damaged nervous tissue, and anything else you can. Besides sight that is.
Great. I’m basically being analyzed 24/7.
He sat up, feeling around to figure out what he landed on. He felt skin and a thick wet substance.
“What the…”
He smelt his hands. Copper. It was blood.
“Ah! Someone is bleeding out! Help! Someone help!”
He backed towards the stairs, scared and confused. Then he heard it. Screams and cries for help in the distance. Calls and pleas waiting to be answered. All with the same voice, distant and sad.
“My eyes!”
“Help me! I can’t see!”
“Anybody out there!”
Some of those answered each other, sounding closer to each other over time. Others just remained where they were, resigned to wailing. Few even cried out that they had loved ones or someone near them that was dying as if they had been struck by something or fell. The man just sat still. Listening. Silently hoping the screams would stop and the blood on his hand would be washed away.
Hey… you need to get moving. We should go back upstairs for a little. I think we aren’t the only ones stuck together.
He nodded, gripping the railing and maneuvering up the stairs. As he reached the top, he heard a gunshot from the right, opposite to his room. A scream soon followed.
“HAROLD!”
His neighbor's voice began to lament.
I think Jean’s husband just shot himself! What is going on?
I think that other people are like us, they have lost their sight. I guess he couldn’t take the strain. Sucks.
“Dude! That’s a person! I bet it was because of something like you, rattling off in his head like a woodpecker.”
I base myself off of you, we have a similar perso-
“I don’t care! Whatever you are you’re honestly sounding like pieces of absolute-.”
Hey, shut up for a sec.
“No, I want you out and I- I-“
He began to sob over his eyesight again.
Stop crying, listen.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“I don’t want t-“
Jean’s wailing had stopped. He heard the door creak open.
“H-Hello? I have a gun; you should go on home.”
Jean was a 64-year-old lady, and her husband was 65. She sometimes baked him cookies on holidays.
Wiping his face, he attempted to ask her if she was alright. As soon as he uttered a sound, the gun went off. He felt pain in his outstretched left hand and he screamed. He quickly shoved his hand into his armpit to stop any bleeding as his ears rang. Once his hearing was back to normal, he spoke again.
“Jean, it’s me.”
“Who?”
“Your neighbor, uh…”
He forgot his name.
WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER MY NAME?
I don’t know! I may have eaten those cells on accident. I don’t even know your name.
“Oh. I see.”
She cocked the gun again.
“Please don’t-“
DUCK!
He felt the heat of the barrel in front of him and went down as the shot rang out. Ignoring the pain in his ears, he shoved himself into Jean with a sense of guilt. He heard the gun clatter as she hit the ground and groaned. Jumping to her left, he felt around for the gun.
“M-My husband just died, let me alone…”
He stood still as the uninjured hand found the gun. It was a shotgun of sorts. He couldn’t tell.
Shoot the bitch.
What the-?! I can’t. She was really nice to me.
She is trying to kill you and I can feel as much pain as you can.
Don’t care, we can’t go around killing my neighbors even if they do that to us.
Fine, but I’m on alert.
As if on command, he felt a rush across his body, like adrenaline. His heart thumped along and he felt cool, ready to jump.
“Don’t shoot me!”
Jean finally realized her husband’s gun was out of reach. With the weapon aimed in the direction of her voice, he attempted to reason to her. Jean remained silent. He pressed that he was blind and did not know what was going on, but still no response.
“I’m just trying to figure out wh-“
Cut off once more by a thud from another door right behind him, another voice rang out, this time from the apartment behind him. He guessed he was close to his own door. It sounded like Jean was shuffling away from him and softly weeping to herself, repeating her husband’s name.
“Stupid whore!” he heard from inside.
His next-door neighbors were a struggling couple, he was sure that becoming blind made their relationship even tenser. He trained Jean’s gun towards the yelling. The man had his girlfriend in some kind of threatening situation. The sound of the door opening was followed by a whimper and cry.
“I can’t see either! Please don’t shoot me!
“The hell did you do tuh my eyes woman?! I need tuh see!”
The man shot the gun a couple of times.
“There’s your new piercings.”
The woman screamed. All they could hear was her shaky breathing and the sound of blows. Jean cried out in fear for him to stop.
“Whatchu lookin’ at? You want some to?”
His gun went off and bullets were heard ricocheting off the brick. Jean was still safe.
I think you should kill that guy instead.
Agreed.
He aimed the gun with his good hand at his neighbor, letting his tears flow.
Damn, I really hate the feeling of tears. You were ex-police, grow your balls back.
Shut. Up. I quit for this exact reason.
“I can’t see either, please don’t shoot.”
“Don’t take me fo’ no foo’, I hate lia’s. You saw this go down; you’re getting’ the same treatment.”
SHOOT. NOW!
He pulled the trigger but the man’s gun went off first. His shotgun flew out of his hand, not properly stabilized. There was silence now, besides the occasional scream or cry for help in the distance. He dropped onto his knees and cradled his injured hand. It was bleeding pretty bad now but he needed to know how bad it was damaged.
Cover that up, your pinky is mutilated as well as part of the meat below it. Go inside ASAP and get a wrap on that. Keep it in your armpit.
He didn’t move. In the distance, he heard crashes from cars. Alarms and horns went off in every direction. More screams in the distance. Another cry for help here. His home city had been crushed under this blind plague.
You need to get inside, now.
Silently, he obeyed, propping himself up slowly as the adrenaline began to wear off. Inside, he felt around the bathroom for a first aid kit. He needed to sterilize his hand and find some gauze wrap. With painstaking effort, he ran his hand under the water. There was Hydrogen Peroxide in the box, it was the only thing in a bottle. He poured the stinging liquid over the wound, somehow feeling it more than usual. He bit one end of the gauze and wrapped his hand tightly.
I never thought people could do this. I didn’t even make it to the road.
Me either. I feel bad for existing. I stopped the bleeding to your hand by the way. I sent hormones that help heal and speed up recovery to your injuries and regenerate non-osseous tissues.
What does any of that mean? Are you sure you learned to speak from me?
Idiot, I’m helping you heal. I can’t get your bones back to normal though; I haven’t figured out how to grow bones, just how to speed up the mending process. You’ll still have scar tissue; you aren’t some superhero.
“Of course not. We need to get out of here. I want to find Annie before she gets hurt.”
First, you need to eat. I need all the nutrients you can get to eliminate the pain and help speed the process. Cook the pizzas.
“How the hell can I do that? I’m really freaking blind.”
Don’t worry about that, I can help you. I’m able to make out some shapes now.