Sight

   “I could be dead.” He said, casually leaning against the cracked wood of the park bench. Five years was the number and with each came a new awakening --- a new sense of reality. A robin chirped above his head, but he ignored it. Instead, he turned to the man in the blue suit who looked at him reproachfully.

   “You know that’s not true.” The man said smiling. And how he hated that smile! Thick with blame, and knowing too much, always too much. He turned away again letting the cool breeze caress his face and flutter his eyelashes. He did not want to hear anymore, though that was precisely why he had come to Willard Park, why he had dared to leave the safety of his refuge. He needed to know what would happen next

   “You have to leave this place.” The man whispered, shifting slowly in his seat. “You have to run.”

   “But I can’t!” He shouted, so suddenly that a very frazzled looking businesswoman lifted her tiny toy poodle and started in the other direction. The man only looked at him, his dark eyes seeing straight through his body, straight to the weakest part, to the part that wanted to leave.

   “If you don’t leave they will kill you.”

   These words seemed to freeze time and space. The wind stopped its playful rasping on the trees around them. It was not until then that he noticed the lack of sound. The people who had been enjoying the beautiful sunlit day had vanished.

   He fell to the ground, realization sinking into his chest like the sharpest of blades. Tears spilled from his eyes and onto the cold cement, he knew what would happen next and he prayed that he would be able to survive this one. The cold breath on his neck made the tears flow faster. His skin prickled as he scraped his short fingernails over the cool ground.

   Suddenly, the ground left him; he was floating, moving in slow circles around the expanse of silence. When his eyes popped open he was sitting perfectly still on the same dull wooden bench, his heart pounding. Sweat oozed from every pore, leaving a sticky sheen on his pale forehead.

   Alone --- he was completely alone, not even the robin dared to show itself. He wondered if the world had gone, or if maybe, just maybe, he was the one who had left.

   Traveled through the nothingness to that place he rarely saw, dark and damp, but somehow full of light. He always left knowing, more than mankind could dream of grasping in their small, incandescent minds.

   They would always let their emotions manipulate them, never thinking that the world outside was more than the body they controlled. But he had put that aside oh yes! He would never let that veil shield his view of the world, and beyond.

   And so he pushed away the fear that tingled the back of his neck, at the very spot where death itself had blown its icy breath, and he ran. Just as the man in the blue suit said --- just as he had known he would. He ran not out of fear, but of urgency, the need to find answers burning strong in his unsteady heart.

   Ignoring the sloshing sound in his chest, he ran like a child through the silent park, and just as he found the exit a horrible sound filled his ears, pushing him to his knees. When his eyes fell upon the slinking shadow behind him he knew he would not be leaving. The towering figure glided toward him, reaching a steady, pale hand from the depths of its cloak, then suddenly it stopped.

   He gazed upon the face, but there was no face, only a pair of slanted yellow eyes that stared at him without emotion. These eyes seemed to suck the life from his soul, all hope drained from his body as the creature stretched its bony hand farther.

   When the rancid fist was only two inches from his long, pale nose, it opened, revealing a dagger sheathed in the dripping red that meant the end.
And he welcomed it without fear --- without the weakness that would bring down
humanity so definitely. And so he held his head bravely to face it, his eyes open to the danger, and his fragile heart pumping through his thin chest, daring the dagger to strike.

   After the blade had sunk, and the pain became unbearable, the darkness enclosed him in peaceful rest. No dream or echo of thought meandered through his empty skull as he slept on through that beautiful haze given only by death.

#

   Forty-seven and counting. She had never seen a case like this one, not in all her eighteen years of work, and it was becoming hard to keep the hope she felt when he had first arrived. But she had to, for the sake of the family; she knew that her hope would be theirs as well.

   When she spotted them they were waiting in the brightly-lit hallway of the ward. The smallest one, a girl, was lying across the dull gray couch of the waiting room, fast asleep. Her mother stood against the window peering through the half-open blinds, her face sagged with worry and fatigue. She could hardly stand to look at the mother whose face seemed to reveal some deep pain, something that neither medicine nor comfort could relieve.

   “Mrs. Ferro.” The mother looked up from the window as if someone had slapped her. “He is stable if you want to go in.” She forced a smile and opened the door for the mother who hesitated before walking into the small, dim room.

   She watched him carefully from the foot of his bed as if he would attack at any moment and she was preparing to run when he did. The room was silent for several
minutes, the quiet seemed to thicken the air as the minutes passed without respite.

   “He’s never coming back is he.” Mrs. Ferro said slowly, and it was not a question, as both women knew the answer.

   “I’m sorry.” She whispered, struggling to keep her voice strong. Mrs. Ferro nodded, moving to the side of her husband’s bed.

   “Wherever you are, I hope it’s beautiful.” She whispered running a small hand over his bruised arm.

#

   “Wake up.” A voice in the fog, something far-off like the sound of distant thunder vibrating the atmosphere. Was it real? Or could it be them.

   “Wake up, now.” The voice bounced around his skull for several dizzying seconds before he tore his eyelids back.

   He was blinded for a moment by the brightness of the blue above him. At first he thought of the ocean, but he knew better. He sat up slowly, running his hands over the cool green grass and smiled. His eyes followed the grass to the base of the glorious white tree that stood beside him, shading him from the brightness of the day.

   “Where have you been?” The tree did not answer, but stared back at him with a quiet majesty.

   “I hope you don’t think I would forget you. You know I would never do that.” He chuckled to himself as he stood. Everything suddenly seemed brighter.

   The tree shivered, pushing wind from its branches up, up into the ocean where
the birds caressed the icy waves. He felt sorry for the tree and wondered if it could be lonely, its roots held it imprisoned there, he thought it deserved freedom. But it would never know freedom, not like he knew it, he had seen it, he had felt it in every whip of wind.

   “I hope someday you know.” He said to the tree, though he was not sure what he meant. He wanted to comfort the tree, but the tree could never understand--- the barrier between them was too great.

   He turned his back to it and felt the brush of its soft leaves against his arm. He did not want to leave this place, but he knew that time, like so many things, would wither. He would see the tree again, when it was allowed, when the end was in sight, maybe one day she would understand.