What happens when the world goes blind for two years…

Door.

3 steps.

Swing right.

Down 14 stairs- don’t get caught on the last bit of carpet.

For the thousandth time I make my way through my house using nothing but memory and the occasional gliding my fingertips on the walls. When I make it downstairs I make a left to the kitchen, running my hands on the borders of the pictures hanging from the walls.

February 13, 2023

My first summer camp group photo.

May 1, 2020

The birth of my baby sister.

December 23, 2017

My parents 20th anniversary.

The photos get older as I slowly walk by them. I would give anything to see them again.

November 17, 2016

I pause feeling the old, splintered frame on that one and fight back the sting in my eyes.

It’s better not to dwell on things that can’t be fixed.

I step by the kitchen, deciding I’m no longer hungry, and go to my parents room. Little feet pad the wood floor when I assume Carey makes her way out of her room. When I sweep her up before she can hurt herself she lets out a squeal.

Not being able to see never bothered her; she was too young when it happened to remember how it was to see in the first place.

She tugs on my hair and gets comfortable on my hip.

“No running or you’ll hurt yourself, got it?”

I can practically feel her pout when she responds “Fine.”

Taking a moment to remember where I am, I turn back to the kitchen to at least get Carey something to eat.

The lights must be bright when I set her down in a kitchen stool from the island.

When was the last time the brightness bothered me?

The thoughts flit out of my head when Carey starts up again, asking me little questions like What day is it? or When will we go outside? She might not be able to see but she must love the feeling of the sun on her skin. I rub at my eyes as I get on my tippy toes to reach the glassware on the high cabinet.

“Mei Mei, can you do my hair after thisss?”

Amazing. She still cares about her hair even in the event that no one will see.

She reminds me more of someone else than I’d like her to.

“Sure I will.” That’s harder to say than I’d like it to be. It’s difficult to find motivation these days.

Putting the glass bowl on the marble counter fills the room with a sharp but soft clink. I spin back around to the fridge, grabbing the cold metal bar and tugging on it until a cold blast hits my face. My eyes burn a little more than I’d like them to.

I pull out the government issued food that every family in America has been provided because it’s “safer, healthier, and easier!”. The government helped most struggling families after the Great Blinding- until about a year ago. Only priorities get certain help and it doesn’t surprise me after what they did to him.

Don’t ask questions.

That’s how you stay safe here.

The persistent beeping of the microwave drags me out of my thoughts. I take it out and juggle it in my hands, trying to avoid the heat. Emptying out the contents into the glass bowl I step behind Carey and run my fingers through her hair.

When she was born it was a dirty blonde like mine, I wonder if it got darker over the years.

There’s an ache right behind my eyes I just can’t place.

Sweeping up all the loose strands, I wrap them into a high messy bun. The corresponding giggle is enough to tell me Carey’s satisfied with the hairstyle though she can’t see it.

There’s a ringing- is something on fire-

Before I can finish my thought a blinding light fills my vision and I can’t help but gasp. Panic starts to rise in my throat when my eyes become blurred- then perfectly clear.

“MEI!”

I can’t help but jump, she must’ve been calling me for a while now. But I can’t respond when I realize I can see her.

Dark, dirty blonde hair and all.

She looks so much like me-

RED.

So much red at the corner of my vision.

I turn left and right and simply freeze.

On each surface.

Each wall.

Each bowl, counter, brush.

Even on the fridge.

“DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE” is scrawled in messy handwriting absolutely everywhere.

“Yes.” I absentmindedly reply to Carey, walking over to the fridge to drag my hands over the paint.

Still wet.

“Today’s the day, y’know…”

She’s always careful of my reaction to her mentions of that day.

She knows it took more from me than just sight.

I wipe my hands on my pants to rid them of the insidious red and rush around the kitchen, really checking if it’s the same message everywhere.

“Don’t worry about that. Let's go outside.”

I can do it.

Simple instructions will keep me alive.

When I get outside with Carey the sun feels far too bright but she looks happy as could be.

If only she could see the cameras in the corner of every block.

Don’t tell them you can see.

I can do that.

Avoiding the cameras I lead her to the center of the yard, trying not to react seeing the military trucks milling about the street.

All the “work” they said they’ve been doing has actually been these trucks-

“Excuse me? Can I help you?”

A soldier.

Looking right at me.

Stop staring, act like you can’t see.

I hollow out my gaze to look like I’m not looking at anything in particular.

“Mei…?”

Carey’s grip tightens on my hand.

Don’t be dumb.

Don’t get her killed.

I squeeze her hand tighter and answer him.

“Who’s that?”

Oblivious. Act oblivious.

He falls for my trick and visibly lowers his gun.

“Just the mailman, handing out handbooks- new subscriptions in braille. I heard you and was wondering if you were lost.”

Lies.

All of it.

“Oh, okay then.” I try my best to act nonchalant and turn the other way, rounding the corner of my house to the backyard, just out of sight.

When I’m totally sure there’s no cameras and glance down at Carey.

She looks scared. I hate that.

I tug on her hand gently, “You okay?”

“That didn’t seem right. Right?”

It’s hard not to freeze up a bit.

I kneel before her and take both her hands into mine.

“We don’t say that, okay? Got it? We don’t say that.”

I can’t tell if she realizes it or not but she looks more confused before letting her questions fade. She knows I’m serious, at least.

“I got it.” She might be reluctant but she knows just as well as me where those types of questions get a person nowadays.

I take the opportunity to stand up again and truly look around.

A wasteland.

That’s what it feels like after two years of not seeing it.

The playset is still here, with the rusted old swing.

“You’re going too fast! I’m gonna fall off!”

“No you won’t. It’ll be fine!”

I shake off the memory and decide it’s better to cheer Carey up.

“Wanna go on the swings?”

She instantly brightens, “Yeah yeah!”

I lead her over to the swing and set her on the still vibrant, red seat. Moving behind her I almost miss the letters carved into the front bar about three feet off the ground.

M+Z

Don’t go there. Not now.

I leave it untouched and start pushing Carey on the swing, it’s not long until she’s giggling and shouting “higher!”.

I don’t get to reply until three pops scare me, Carey screams but I don’t because I don’t see anyone.

I catch her swing and shush her, looking left and right-…

No way, just breathe.

My voice comes out barely a whisper, “I’m gonna go somewhere, stay in the bushes. Don’t come out till I say so and until you’re sure it’s me.”

She nods barely and I pick her up and lower her into the bushes until she's hidden.

I barely make it around the corner before I see the three holes.

And then my legs are moving faster than I meant them to, rounding the bend and coming to the front of my house.

Nausea hits me so hard I don’t have it in me to act blind in front of the cameras.

Bursting the front door open I make a beeline for my parents room.

It’s there again but it’s different.

Darker, more messy.

“DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE”

I walk closer and nearly gag.

I run my thumb over the word just to make sure.

Blood.

Their blood.

I don’t realize when I’ve made it to the floor, or when I started rubbing my hands on my clothes so hard- even though the red still stains them.

Dragging myself back up I decide I have to see to believe.

But some part of me already knows they’re gone.

I grab the handle tight and twist, pushing the door open slowly.

I can’t hear over the blood pounding in my ears, or over the forced steady breaths I’m taking.

3 bullets.

One through the floor in front of the bed.

A missed shot.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

One through her heart.

One through his head.

She looked like she suffered more, that’s not fair.

I don’t bother with walking over to check their pulses, I just turn back around and sprint for the sink, dry heaving even though nothing comes up.

Soap catches my eyes next.

Their blood is on your hands.

I pump way more than needed and drown my hands in the water.

When did I start crying?

“Stupid stupid stupid-“

Crying from outside.

Carey.

The sink doesn’t get turned off before I’m running back to her, picking her up out of the bushes and holding her probably far too tight.

I don’t know how I’m still standing, let alone speaking,“I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t have left for that long.”

I wipe at the old tears on her face,”I just got scared. It’s really quiet.”

She’s-…

She’s looking right at me.

I swear I’ve been holding my breath.

“Carey, can you see me?”

She just freezes.

“You can tell me…”

It would be so much better if she could see.

Or worse.

No 5 year old should have to see inside that house.

She looks directly at me then finally opens her mouth.

“Yes.”

And my world is over as I know it.

We can’t stay here anymore.

I make it back to the front of the house with Carey and go inside.

We don’t go into their room.

It’s easier that way.

“Get whatever you need. Need. Got it? No stuffed animals.”

I glance back at her and almost shatter.

She looks so hollow.

I can’t help but soften.

“One stuffed animal.”

Padding over to her room, she avoids the stained door to her left.

By the time I come back downstairs I find her packed with a purple backpack on the couch.

“Ready?”

Carey hops off the couch and walks over to the door with me.

“Remember the plan?”

I help her lace her boots.

She recites it from memory,”We head west to California, when we find Zane’s family we ask if they can help.”

Bingo.

“One more thing…”

I rush to the other side of the house and grab the photo hanging on the wall, taking it out of the splintered frame and carefully placing it in my backpack.

“Yep, you’re coming too.” the words float out under my breath. I take the one next to it as well. Before I realize it we’re already stepping out the door.

My dad’s Chevy Truck is the first thing I see. A bit rusted from little to no use since the great blinding but otherwise in good condition.

The bad thing is the cameras surrounding each way to get into it.

The soldier must’ve taken the day off because the roads are clear so at least there’s that.

Timing. We need timing.

Glancing up at the flashing red dots on the corners of the cameras I realize two things after waving a hand in front of one.

One; They’re motion sensored.

Two; Someone is watching at this moment.

That means no mistakes or missed opportunities.

We slip up, it's over for us. Maybe there’s a chance but it’s incredibly stupid to even consider risking that.

I look back to check on Carey and notice she’s thinking. She’s always been brighter than me in her own way. There isn’t a puzzle she can’t solve.

“Eight point seventy five.”

I have never felt dumber in my life, it must show on my face because she elaborates.

“The distance between the camera's maximum view and the wall. Eight point seventy five inches. We can squeeze then…”

And her idea is genius,”Crawl under the car to the other side and sneak in.”

We must be thinking the same thing because our backpacks hit the ground at the same time then get slid across the expanse of the seven foot wall underneath the camera.

Carey goes first because she’s smaller. Scooting across the expanse with her back to the wall, just under eight point seventy five inches.

When she gets to the other side she slides under the car and mouths “Come on!” from on the side of the hubcap.

Sliding my backpack over, I wait until Carey catches it until I start moving.

Head to the wall.

Don’t look down; not enough space.

About 4 feet across I feel it.

3 holes in the wall.

I can’t help but run my hands over the holes blackened by gunpowder.

A rifle.

I can’t help but let out a small sob.

I don’t remember making it to the other side or how the rest of the way went but I did it.

Sliding to the other side of the car with Carey we sneak up and into the front of my dads truck. I put Carey in first, strapping her in tight.

I can’t help but grin while doing it, “Just know once we get a different ride,” I pull the belt as tight as it will go,”this isn’t happening again until you’re old enough.”

And she chuckles.

So very worth it.