chapter two

 

CHAPTER TWO

"Streams may spring from one source, and yet some be clear and some be foul." Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The White Company.

 

I may be bitter, pessimistic and exceedingly anti-social- I’ll be the first to admit that- but in my defence, I do have an awfully valid excuse. The world sucks; it’s unfair, cruel, and snide. The people who inhabit this pitiful, tiny speck of land we call Earth are no better. Man now sickens me with their endless greed; they have so much and are either too oblivious or too naive to appreciate it.

They take simple luxuries for granted. Things that are typically overlooked; being able to live in a normal classed home, driving a car, going out to clubs, reading off of a regular menu in a local restaurant; simple things that make the world of difference. Things like eyesight. 

I am blind. I have been in this callous state for about two years now. Being blind is nothing anyone could ever predict. You lose more than just your sight. You lose your freedom, independence, dignity and most importantly, you lose your life. It drives you insane listening to everyday conversations from across the room, people talking about how they will decorate their houses, how beautiful their best friend’s wedding was, how sweet their newborn babies are. You become isolated from the world, unable to relate to those who you once held close.

Now I will admit I was the one who pushed my family and friends away after the accident, they tried to support me but their company just added to my misery, thinking about their fortunes and my misfortunes. They were able to pursue their dreams, move on, allow their lives to grow while mine metaphorically ended so abruptly. Their pity was like battery acid in my veins. It wasn’t fair that after nineteen years of being able to do anything I wanted, to see anything I wanted, it all was stripped away in one single instant.

I have to see a therapist “to help me adapt, and accept my disability” once a week for as long as he feels is needed, which probably means I’ll be seeing him for a long time. The more I have to go, the more money he makes. Greed once again presents its ugly face.

His name is Doctor Isaac Visk, and now here I am sitting in his suffocating office, in this rough cushioned chair waiting while he jots down a few notes in a small folder with my name on it.

I could hear the faint scratching of the sharp ball point pen carving letters into the thick paper, imagined ink spilling into the divots it had created.

Roughly fifteen minutes had passed, the clock ticking away tauntingly. Fifteen long, painful minutes.

I saw the doctor as a tall but plump man; the first time we met, he shook my hand firmly and I could feel the long, thick fingers wrap around my slender hand, his palm was padded with fat, I could hardly get my own fingers to stretch around the mass of flesh.

His voice was somewhat deep, rough from years of smoking. It sounded as if he had a lump of phlegm stuck in his lungs, and no matter how much he cleared his throat, it never moved from its permanent home there.

I believed he was somewhere in his late forties, a short, red scruff of hair that blotted his face added about three years to his age, along with the deep grooves carved in his dry skin from time. Like a dried out lake, the tissue cracked, leaving the thin, spider webbed lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes.

 Of course I couldn’t see these characteristics, but in my opinion, in my head this is what I pictured. I had begun to do that just in the last year or so, I create descriptions of people I meet based on their personalities, every small detail I imagine. Helps pass the time and keeps me hanging on by the tiniest thread of sanity I have left.

“How are you feeling today Quinn?” Visk asked, closing my folder and sliding it to the corner of his desk.

 

It was amazing how well I could envision my surroundings, how each miniscule sound added up to an action, how every one of those actions added up to a single picture in my head. I guess it’s almost the same thing as reading a book, for someone with sight. Instead of having words to create visuals, I had sounds.

 

I sighed deeply, “Do you really care what the answer to that question is, or are you asking just as a formality, to be polite according to society’s standards.”                                                             I folded my legs and shifted my weight uncomfortably. I had only managed to suffer through two previous sessions before this one and I dreaded the next few months of these bi-weekly interrogations.

 

He leaned back in his upholstered swivel chair; it always squeaked as he bent the chairs metal spine past its limitations. “Alright, putting ‘society’s standards’ aside,” He began, after quoting me, “How are you feeling today?”

 

I rolled my eyes and grunted, unimpressed.

“It’s a simple question Quinn.”He yawned deeply and I shot him a sharp glare, one which he ignored.

 

            I sighed, “Well Doc, I’m just feeling great.” I said finally, sarcasm dripping from my words, “being blinded for life is just such a treat, you should try it sometime. Oh, and being stuck in here, being forced to entertain you with my own, personal thoughts is just the sweet cherry on top.” I folded my arms across my chest.

 

            I could hear the doctor’s deep breathing, the hot air whooshing in and out of his tar filled lungs with a soft rattle. He was calm, unmoved by my resentment.

            “I know you don’t particularly enjoy being here.”

            I laughed tightly, “That’s an understatement.”

            He ignored me once again and continued, “But, you have to be here regardless. So, if I were you, I would use this time constructively, that way you  won’t have to be here longer than is needed.”

            I leaned forward in my chair, narrowing my useless eyes, “As long as you think is needed.” I corrected.

            The doctor lifted his weight from the back of the chair, its metal frame groaned with the relief, “Yes, of course. I won’t excuse you until I feel you are ready.”

 

            I remained forward in my chair for a moment before flopping back, “So I can expect to be coming here for a while then.” I grumbled more to myself but loud enough for Visk to hear.

            He planted his heavy hands on the hollow desk with a dull thud that almost startled me, “Well, if we continue at this rate, then that very well may be.

 

When I didn’t give a response he smoothed his rough hands over the surface of his desk with a shuddering sandpaper sound as if to clear away any dirt or dust that might have planted itself there. I leaned back in my own chair, gathering in the atmosphere of which I felt so caged in. 

 

The thick wood of the chair I sat in felt warm to the touch, the many screwed up people that came into this office searching for his flawless expertise have had their grubby little fingers all over these arm rests. I cringed and put my hands in my lap, trying not to think of the millions of bacteria variations I had just allowed onto my skin.

 

The room was cool, even with the steady stream of hot air spilling from an air duct above me I couldn’t keep the Goosebumps at bay. They turned my flesh into unreadable brail and sent occasional shivers to tremor through my core, rattling my bones.

 

I had explored his office the first meeting I had with the doctor. He had left me here for about fifteen minutes while he settled a scheduling conflict with one of his other patients.

 

Slowly I had guided my wandering fingertips along his smooth, freshly varnished office desk, which held no real clutter. Just a few pens neatly lined in a row alongside a thick pad of paper and a small table lamp. The doctor also had a computer. It had a wide, flat screen and was hot from being left on for hours on end. The hard drive hummed softly letting me know electricity surged through its wires.

 

He had one large window behind his desk which let the hot sun in on his back, I had felt along the walls, searched out the half dozen framed certificates and medical licenses displayed to impress. Impress who? Maybe they kept him sane at the end of the day. Looking over at his prominent collection of achievements, relieved to have escaped the insanity plague.

 

A plague. It seemed to reach all across the universe, digging its long, sharp claws deep into the souls of all mankind, gradually picking away at their sanity.

 

“Would it be alright if I asked you a few, simple questions?” Visk prodded me to accept, he spoke as softly as he could with his tobacco burned vocal cords. I shrugged nonchalant across from him and nodded.

 

Surprised, but pleased the doctor cleared his throat unsuccessfully as always, “Alright, I just want you to tell me what you think of your condition. All sides of it, in and out.” I snorted, simple my a*s.

 

I remained silent and yawned; my head turned slightly away from Visk’s. I could feel his probing eyes scanning my face for a trace of expression, a flicker of emotion, but I was careful, I remained still, neutral.

           

These ‘sessions’ were painful. I wasn’t sure how many more hours I could endure in this tight, boring office, forced to spill out my thoughts and feelings to a complete stranger who undoubtedly didn’t really give a damn what I thought or felt. I was just another client, just another confused person who screwed up their lives, someone to pay for his expensive tastes.

 

“Quinn?” He asked firmly, “Could you please answer the question?”

I shrugged again, “No.”

He paused, “I’m a little confused. Did you not agree to comply Quinn?” His voice was flat, absent of emotion.

I tilted my head amused, “That’s where you’re wrong doctor.” I smiled innocently, “I gave my approval for you to ask me a few questions, I never said I would answer them.” I knew I was being immature, but I could really care less at this point.

 

            Visk grunted annoyed, although he tried to stay in control, to keep a calm disposition. “One question Quinn. Just one and I’ll dismiss you for the day. You still have half this session left; so I mean, if you really would prefer to sit here silently we can wait out the remaining time. It’s up to you.”He slid his chair, along with his knees farther beneath his desk, awaiting my answer.

 

            I hesitated, rubbing my tired face with my hands and sighed deeply, “One. That’s it. I answer and you let me leave.”

 

            I could almost feel the triumph seeping from his every, sweaty pore. What a big man, he got the poor blind girl to answer a question. I half expected him to get up and perform a little victory dance.

“You have to give a true answer though, you do understand?”

Of course.   

 

I nodded, “My condition? You want to know what I think?”

“Yes, the advantages and disadvantages.”

I snorted with his add on to the question, sneaky b*****d. “Well, First of all, it’s not a condition. Condition downsizes it, makes it seem less invasive then it really is. It’s more of a violation, a cruel joke, a way for God to tease those of us cursed with it.

 

“It’s unfair, to be able to see for the majority of your life, to have this incredible gift without even realising the magnitude of its ability, then have it stolen from you in an instant of uncertainty, to not be able to see the beauty in things, once you become blinded you see how much everyone takes sight for granted and it kills you to witness.”

 

I laughed, a short, airy laugh, “Second, There are no advantages to it. I don’t even understand how you could even ask that, how you could ask me to answer. Were you expecting me to rhyme off positives? About how I learned oh so much from my experience?” I snorted, “You can never know until you experience it yourself. Ask me again if you’re ever blinded, then I’ll give you an answer. As for disadvantages, well. You might as well cancel your other appointments for the day if I begin that list.”

 

Visk sat silent for a moment, absorbing my words which had no doubt surprised him, rendered him speechless as he sat in his worn in chair.

 

Finally, he slid his seat back, away from his desk and rose to his feet with a grunt. He stretched out his back muscles with a few short pops of the vertebrae. I listened to his heavy footsteps as he wandered over to the small, two-frame window that brought the grey winter sun in behind his desk.

 

            “Alright. You can go.”

            I furrowed my eyebrows suspiciously; I hadn’t thought he would dismiss me so suddenly, without input, without any kind of psycho analysis. I didn’t stick around for him to change his mind though, to regain his intellectual demeanour.

 

Author's Note

read chapter one first!!! :) thanks for reveiwing

Reviews

[Jessie Sianodel]

Instead of saying his voice was flat, absent of emotion (When Quinn refuses to answer the question) you should say something like 'his voice matching mine' because you already talked about Quinn having no emotion.

Other than that, it was great and I love how she talks to the shrink. really funny .....in a sort of messed up way.

[Kira]

Brail should be Braille, and all of Jaime's suggestions were good as well. What I don't understand is how she became blind; she was just standing there one minute and scratching at her eyes the next (in the first chapter, I mean).

[Luna Northstar]

Once again, even though your main character is blind, your description is amazing. I really love this book so far. It's so good, I can't wait to read more!!!

[-Jaime-]

You're description is amazing; and the way you incorporate it makes such good imagery and creates great scenes. "I could hear the faint scratching of the sharp ball point pen carving letters into the thick paper, imagined ink spilling into the divots it had created." Loved that sentence.

There are a couple of things that bother me though. I can't like your character at all. I'm not sure where you're trying to go with her, but she just comes across as whiny and annoying. I hate to hear her complain, and it's a total turn off from the story; It kinda makes her weak, and no one likes a weak character. She can still be bitchy, and have a bad attitude; nothing wrong with that. But just plain complaining is not gonna do it. I want to see her angry, but cut back on the self pity a bit.

I also have a problem with Dr. Visk. As a therapist he needs to be a lot more calm and collected; in control. I don't see that from him.

I know it seems like I'm complaining about a lot of things myself; but I really like the story and those things just throw me off and distract me from it.