.:: Mwc13 -june- You Are Blind ::.

[4urentertainment]

++ ENTRY THREAD ++

DO NOT DISCUSS THE CONTEST IN THIS THREAD. ALL QUESTIONS, CONCERNS AND COMMENTS GO IN THE DISCUSSION THREAD: TO BE POSTED BELOW

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome June's 2013's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MWC13 - June - You Are Blind - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is a theme I've been excited about for a while, and I hope you'll be just as excited about it as I am.

Limitation is often the spark that ignites creativity, and what better way to handicap your writing than to abjure all (or most) visual description. I've always found the stories told through a blind man's perspective to be most enticing. Many of our mundane and daily tasks are often scary or frightening challenges for the blind, and there are many aspects which none of us ever really stop to think about. For example, have you ever thought about , when a blind person pours a cup of tea, how they know when the cup is full?

(Special note on the prizes for this contest: Newgrounds has always been built on collaboration. Any website allows you to submit your work, but the reason why Newgrounds is what it is, is because of the constant collaboration of people in all these diverse fields that allows us to grow and form unique partnerships.

There was a "writing jam" a year or so ago, where writers submitted short scripts, that coincided with a "movie jam" where animators chose from one of the scripts and animated it in 72 hours. Hopefully we'll be seeing more of such events in the future!)

THEME

The theme is "You Are Blind". You must write a story where the protagonist is a blind person. The whole aim of this is to force you to focus on your descriptions, and attempt to paint a scene with almost no use of visual description. (I say almost because the blind person can try to infer shapes by touching and whatnot, or mentally picture the surroundings)

Now this could be the story about an introspective blind old man who struggles to do the things that we take for granted, or a miraculous tale about a blind spy or sky-diver, or something else you'd imagine would be impossible for someone with impaired vision, yet he finds ways and methods to overcome his disability.

Tip

Good writers write from experience. If you're not blind yourself, or know someone who is, it would probably be really hard to imagine exactly what they would be going through in a given situation. The best way to go about this would be to research the subject. Perhaps try to find first person accounts of blindness, or go about your day and conciously think about how you would do each activity without using your eyes. Try to find real events or examples to inspire you.

RULES

Please read the rules carefully, and make sure your submission abides by them, otherwise you might be disqualified!

1) Your story must NOT exceed 4500 words.
2) Story must be your original work. Plagirism will not be tolerated.
3) Story must be submitted by the deadline below
4) You must follow the "Submitting" roles posted below

DEADLINE: July 2nd, 2013; MIDNIGHT STD, EST (ie midnight between July 2nd and July 3rd)

PRIZES

As always, 1st, 2nd and 3rd place winners will each be awarded $25 in NG store credit. The special prize this time around, is that winners will also be getting their stories narrated and voice acted by the talented voice actors of Newgrounds!

Imagine your short story being an audiobook! Maybe even with sound effects throughout the narration. (With that said, please do NOT write your story in script form, with things like [glass breaking sfx here] )

Current list of voice actors who volunteered: (I'm still getting some offers by PM, the more voice actors we have the more people can get their stories narrated!)

SkuhPlew
Butsaay
PiperAnn
ForNoReason

SUBMITTING

1) Post your stories in this thread.
2) Do NOT post a link to your story on your userpage, or anywhere else. The story must be submitted in this thread.
3) If your story is too long to fit in one post, split it up into multiple posts.
4) PLEASE post a title to your story, along with the word count. You don't want have your story referred to as "untitled" when you win, do you?

JUDGING

Judges have yet to be announced.

Good luck! I look foward to reading your stories

-------------------------------------------

FINAL NOTE: Please click here to follow the account Lit101 where experienced NG writers will be posting tips, tutorials, and to make sure you are notified of updates, events and all future contests! Don't miss out! Follow Lit101!

[4urentertainment]

Discussion thread:

http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/1341287

[SpikeVallentine]

Two men are in a living room with the sunlight beaming through the window.
"Hi Walter" said Walter's best friend Jasper. "Go away!" snapped Walter. "Well sheesh!" Jasper walked out the room.
"Wait! Come back. Hand me that piece of there! This baby's almost done" said Walter. "Do you really need to make this bomb? The SWAT will be here any minute!" questioned Jasper. "Sure" said Walter. Knock knock knock. "They're here!" cried Jasper. "So what." said Walter. BANG! The SWAT team kicked through the glass windows. A bright flash flooded the room.
"AHH! I can't see! I can't see!" shouted Walter. "Muahhaha. The flash bang worked. Now this man can't see. Now we can take his bomb in peace, and disassemble it in our laboratory and no one has to die." said MR SWAT Man. "I can't see! What have you done?! " cried Walter. "Muahahha" said MR Swat Man. He walked toward the blind man and hovered over him. "Don't you ever try to make a bomb in my neighborhood again. This will teach you." Said MR SWAT Man. "But I am blind! Why did you do this to me? I will never be able to see again! All you had to do was ask me to stop!" said Walter. MR SWAT Man's jaw dropped. Everyone was silent. They stared at Walter. "Why did you do this to me?! How am I supposed to see again!?" said Walter. MR SWAT Man loosened his tie and his knees were trembling. "I...I didn't..." stuttered MR SWAT Man. Walter dropped his face on the floor and began to cry. MR SWAT Man began to tear as well. "I am sorry." said MR SWAT Man. He looked at his men, "Come boys, let's go." said MR SWAT man. 5 hours later Walter was alone in his house looking for food. As he guided himself around his house he accidentally bumped into his piano. He accidentally hit more piano keys. Then he sat down and felt like playing. 10 years later he became the worlds most amazing piano player. The End.

[jecjoker]

~ The blind lose sight ~ By James "jecjoker" Crumley
"I stroke what I can only describe as a long shaft, it feels coarse yet smoothe" - 16
"I get to the end to find a cold hard tip and what I can only describe as four appendages" - 20
"I run my hands back down the shaft to find a large circular head that reminds me of a newborn baby's head" - 22
"I feel a sudden surge and I black out, I wake up to screaming and I start to panic passing out again" - 22
"I wake up hearing a hurry around me and people talking, I feel someone pass by and hurriedly ask them what's going on" - 23
"What I realize now was a woman yells for the doctor as someone else in the background says "Thank god we saved him!"" - 23
"I try to reach over to the woman to get her attention again but realize nothing is moving, I can't feel anything" - 22
"I try to wriggle my toes too get feeling in them but they fail to respond" - 16
"I yell and scream ""Help me I can't see!"" - 9
"As the woman next to me puts her hands down on my shoulder too hold me, I feel her hand on the top of my arm and then nothing after it" - 31
"The doctor comes in with these words ""We managed to save you, you've been out for weeks we thought we had lost you. I'm sorry but you've lost both of your arms from the shoulder down and the ability to use your legs"" - 43

1266 Characters used - 247 Words used

[Luke]

A Powerful Mind - 1

On the morning of August 23rd, 1993, the sun rose slower than it ever had before. Patrick, laying awake in bed, was enjoying the rest of his time off during the summer break. Soon, he knew, his mother would be preparing breakfast. His stomach grumbled at the thought, and he began drooling inside for pancakes. He opened his eyes, and let out a sigh of sadness and frustration. It had been three years now, and Patrick still had not gotten used to his inability of sight. Not a moment after Patrick made a sound, his best friend jumped up onto the bed beside him. "Mornin', Chucky!" Patrick said, he felt a small smile growing on his face as his companion began panting and laying beside him. Chuck was a four year old farm dog, and had helped Patrick since the day of his accident. While his father was so busy with a bottle of whiskey (no doubt punishing himself over what he'd done to his son), Chuck would make sure Patrick could go about his day to day chores with a little less stress and difficulty.

"Chucky, what do you say we go for a walk?" Patrick hadn't been out of the house for quite some time, with his mother and father both asleep, he figured this was a good time to go exploring the farm. There was one thing Patrick was happy for, caused by his blindness, he had never been quite an imaginative boy, not like everybody else. Patrick was serious, and never could he be found with much of a smile on his face. Since his accident, however, he has smiled more than ever before in his life. The entire world was his playground, because nobody could tell him different. The barn was a castle, because he refused to believe it was anything but. The pond near the farm was a pool of magma, and not even Chucky could convince him otherwise, not even when he'd swim in the pond for sticks. Patrick would jokingly scream and shout, panicking to save the dog that would be burnt alive in a second of impacting the lava.
Chuck barked gently, and sprung himself off of Patrick's bed.

After a number of minutes passed, Patrick was dressed and ready to explore the great outdoors. He'd lazily thrown on the same shirt and socks he'd worn just the day before, his mother would complain at some point, but right now Patrick was far too eager to put his imagination to use, he saw it as the best thing in the world, and had his accident to thank for it. Chuck barked, calling on Patrick to hurry up. He made his way through the hallway of the farmhouse, and was outside before his companion could call him once more.
"Chucky, it's so nice out!" Patrick said enthusiastically, feeling the air to pet his best friend. "This is going to be the best day ever, I just know it". The sun was only still beginning to rise, Patrick had no idea of the time, but he knew that his mother woke up around six o'clock in the morning, Pat assumed it was roughly five. "Come on, Chucky, let's get going!"

The German Shepherd trotted alongside Patrick, guiding the blind child with the sound of his movements. These walks were a common thing for the duo, and Chucky had a good feeling of where Patrick would want to go. First, they'd visit the barn where Patrick would often imagine that he was a king or a knight, fending off trolls and other fictional monsters. Secondly, they'd visit the woods, where the child would imagine himself as an elf, or hunter, he'd play survival games by himself there, with Chucky being his watchdog, helping him hunt imaginary animals. At the end of their travels, they'd go to the pond, this is where Patrick often wished he could swim. Instead, he'd hear the water and pretend it was a pool of lava, the two friends would have to avoid this deadly liquid at all costs, their lives would depend on it.

Patrick smiled gently, "We're here, aren't we Chucky?". He could smell the barn animals, the chickens were still resting, he knew that they'd awaken when he was nearby. "Maybe we should just skip the barn today, let them get some extra rest." he suggested to Chucky, who understood as if he himself were a human. This was almost unlike Patrick, who never once showed any care for the chickens. To him they were nuisances and not much more. He'd often step in their faeces and be annoyed with their clucking. However, Chucky obliged and led his companion to the woods.

The fallen twigs and dry leaves crunched under their feet. "Are you ready, buddy? Go find me a staff!" Today Patrick wanted to be a wizard. It had been ages since he'd cast his magic and performed his tricks to the elves in the woodland. Chucky ran off, and returned almost instantly with a stick the perfect size for his friend. Dropping the staff on the ground, he let out a quiet bark. "Thank you!" he said with glee. Patrick bent down and picked up the staff. Immediately he could feel the magic and power surging through his body. "I am the greatest wizard in all of the woodlands!" he announced, jumping with his staff in the air. He aimed the staff around him, making sound effects to go with the fire and ice he began shooting out of it. "Burn you!" he'd shout, imagining the monsters collapsing around him. "I am fearless, not a soul can stop me! Living or undead, I will destroy you!" He struck his imaginary foes with more magic, casting lightning from the sky and reigning hell upon the earth at his feet.

Soon the elven villagers of the woodland approached Patrick, in tears of joy. "Thank you, thank you!" they fell to their knees before him in worship. "I am only doing my job, ladies and gentlemen! You can always count on me!" Patrick bowed, and did a series of magic tricks for the children of the tribe. "I am afraid I must go now, but I will return!" Patrick made his exit, the elves cheered and waved goodbye to him. "They love me, Chucky. They really do!" Patrick's smile was thick and filled with joy. "This really is the best day, thank you so much for coming with me!" Chucky barked in excitement. The two best friends continued their journey, Patrick felt around for the trees and shrubs around them, guiding himself through the woods until they'd reach the pond.

"You know, Chucky, sometimes I wish I could remember what you looked like." Patrick began, and his companion looked up to him in interest as they walked. "I've seen you before, but now it is so difficult to put a face to you. I bet you're the most handsome dog in the world, though!" He giggled and stopped to pet the German Shepherd. "I'm the luckiest boy alive to have a friend like you." Chucky licked his face, and Patrick's giggles drowned out every other sound around them.

The pond was still today, no fish were jumping in and out of the water. It was a calm morning, and Patrick knew that he would have to go back to the homestead soon. "We'll only be here for a little bit, Chucky, I promise.". The young boy hurried toward the pond, today he would dip his feet into the water. There was no lava this time. He slowly approached the sandbar near the water, being as careful as a blind boy could with each step. If he slipped, he was sure Chucky would be there to catch him somehow. "Just be careful..." he told himself. This was the closest to the water he had been in a long time, and without ever knowing how to swim, his heart was racing. Suddenly, the German Shepherd let out a series of loud yelps and barks, and began racing off into the woods again. The dog had spotted an animal, and was set on capturing it for the family at the homestead. Startled, Patrick slipped and fell onto a number of rocks. "Chucky!" he screamed in fright, the world was tightening around him, the fear he felt made him want to vomit. "Help me!" he began shouting in repetition. Not once in his life had Chucky even been disobedient to his friend, in the back of Patrick's mind throughout the mayhem he was facing, he had no choice but to question what it could be that had stolen his dog's attention.

[Luke]

A Powerful Mind - 2

Patrick scrambled, with one thousand thoughts crossing his mind at a second, he tried and tried, but could not catch his balance on the sand and rocks. "Please, please, please!" He screamed, and begged to any higher power that he could see, so he could catch on to something. He slipped again after lifting his leg and trying to catch a flat surface. It was his worst nightmare, and Patrick soon found himself in the cold water of the pond. "Chucky!" He tried screaming, but he was being pulled under the water by his inability not only to see, but to swim as well. His pleas and shouts came out in gargles, all inaudible to anybody but himself. In the darkness of his mind, the water became lava. He got pulled under. It was water. He reached up, it was lava. Pulled under, water. Up, lava.

His time was running short, he knew he was going to die. He couldn't see a thing, but could feel the fish swimming around him, the movements of theirs so close to his. Would he end up fish food? He was sure of it. He tried once more to reach for the surface, and couldn't manage.

All was quiet, and as usual, all was dark around him. Patrick fell to the bottom of the pond, his eyes opened, and still there was nothing. He could feel though, his sense of touch and awareness seemed to be stronger than ever before.
Something is in the water. He thought to himself. What is in the water? With his new found imagination, and at the last few seconds of his life, Patrick imagined the most horrifying monster in the world. It could be anything, a mutated serpent, 100 feet long, ready to consume him. Please, God... he thought to himself. Suddenly, he was being pulled. He could hear the gargles of breathing under water. What is this? He panicked. Surely it must be the monster he imagined, he was going to be eaten before he drowned to death. It was just the luck of a blind child. Sharp teeth bit in to him, he was almost gone, he would be dead soon. He was thankful for this, he wouldn't have to be eaten alive entirely before passing. He'd much rather drown. The worst part of it all was that he could not see, he'd never know just what it was that would eat his lifeless body. A 100 foot serpent seemed the most likely to the child, the blind child with an imagination unlike any other. He was being dragged across the water, he could feel himself rising. The sea-monster wasn't too strong, but was doing good enough to bring Patrick's almost-dead self to it's underwater cave, or whatever it chose to reside in.

He gasped, swallowed water. He gasped, swallowed more. He gasped, and he could taste fresh air. He could hear the struggle, the gnawing and the splashes. He could feel the soaked fur. Patrick began wondering what kind of sea-monster would have fur. A beaver? A massive, mutated, savage beaver? He screamed, knowing now that his insides would not be invaded by dirty water. He was beginning to breathe again, and he was going to be okay. "Help!" he screamed. Nobody could hear, and the savage beaver was going to be feasting on him soon if he could not escape. Maybe he would not be okay. He began to cry, and that was when he realized what was happening. "Chucky!" he was shocked, and he was more relieved than he had ever been in his entire life. "You came back!" Tears ran from his eyes and into the pond, soon he would be on land.

The German Shepherd dragged the boy onto the sandbar, in his soaking went clothing, he lay there, breathing deeply and furiously. He couldn't find the words, but his companion knew that he had just saved his life. "Chucky, let's never do this again." Patrick said, taking very long pauses for breath between each word. The duo lay on the sandbar, soaking up the sun, catching their breathe, and enjoying their lives together. The most precious friendship in the world, the most precious picture ever taken by the universe. Patrick and Chucky rested for hours, both knowing (and hoping) that they would never have an adventure quite like this one ever again in their lives.

[blackdragon24]

What My Eyes Can't See By: Daniel Fletcher
It was mid summer of '56 Montgomery Alabama I was only about 7 years old, 4 foot 3, 65 lbs, and blind. I was born with a Blindness doctor said I would never be able to seeanything ever and thats how I lived.
( Two white women talking inside a little house) Lady 1: Did you hear about those killings of three Negro boys by Klan?
Lady 2: Yea yea I heard Sherif Bates found 'em real bloody hung in from a tree down in them woods.
( Boy running around in house ) Lady 2: Im sorry bout that. Charles sit yo' raggedy tail down befo' you gets hurt! Already blind wanna be blind and crippled?!
( Charles listening in on conversation )
Lady 1: So Sharron hows the boys eye site comin' along?
Sharron(Lady 2): Its the same doctor says he's gone be blind his whole life.
Lady 1: Oh so he's gots it bad two ways.
( Charles runs outside to play )
Sharron: What do yo' mean ?
Lady 1: The fact he's blind and poor of course.
( Charles outside runs into a black boy )
Charles: Oh sorrys didnt see yo there.
Boy: Oh its okay Im Daryl.
Charles: Im Charles but you can call me Charlie.
Daryl: Well Charlie yo wanna play hide and seek ?
Charles: You wanna play with me but Im blind
Daryl: That doesnt mean we cant play together me and you we are similar the only ones who we different from are them normal white boys me and you we're friends. Shake ?
Charles: Yea but wheres yo hand i cant see
Daryl: Here
( They shake hands beginning a new friendship )
And thats when I learned I was a " blind negro " growing up thinking I was black many things changed for me I stopped depending on other people and became independent because I knew being black would be hard enough with the white man against me and on top of that I was blind. No ever told me head on I was white and I never lead to it either.
( Charles now 13 years old Country Rivers Park playing baseball )
Daryl: Hey guys I brought us an extra player.
Other boys: ( mumbling ) Man why him?
Daryl: He's good despite his condition Cyrus.
Cyrus: I bet he is but that doesnt change the fact that he's -
Daryl: What you dont want em to play cause of that then you aint no better then the ones discrimatin' against us.
Cyrus: Whatever just leave em we can play
Daryl: No Charlies been my bestfriend since I we we're 7 years old and Im not gonna turn away on him for none of yall. Comin' Charlie I guess we're not wanted here.
Other boys: Man he trippin' C'mon lets just play
Charles: Wait why cause Im blind? So Im just like you a Black African American male!
Daryl: Hahaha man you funny Charlie.
( Both laugh )
Daryl: What do wanna do now ?
Charles: I might just go home its supper time now anyways.
Daryl: Alright see ya later.
Charles: Later Daryl.
( walks into house Sharron talking to a woman )( same woman from beggining)
Charles: Evenin' momma evenin' Miss April
Sharron: Evenin' Charlie
Miss Apil: Evenin' Charles. Back already Charles ?
Charles: Yessum
Sharron: Charlie get washed up and ready for supper
Charles: Yes momma
Sharron: Like I was saying its shame how they kilt that negro man like that.
Miss April: Yes it is.
Charles: Someone needs to put a stop to that Klan killing our people for no reason.
Miss April: Our people?
Charles: Yes mam our people us blacks
( Miss April chuckles )
Charles: Whats so funny mam?
Miss April: You are boy ?
Sharron: Um Charlie what she means is what are you talking about we are not negroes.
Charlie: Wait what yeah we are
Sharron: No we're not we just live in a negro neighborhood because we're poor leave it alone now and we'll talk about when your father gets home in a minute.
Charles: No we wont I wanna know the truth now!
Miss April: Well its late and Imma get going on home wooh a negro white blind boy cant wait to tell the girls.
Sharron: Bye April.
Miss April: Bye hope you get this cleared up.
( Leaves out the door ) (Charlie crying leaving out the door)
Charles: No no no! Daryl open up please!
Daryl: Charlie whats wrong?
Charles: ( crying) What color is my skin ?
Daryl: What ?
Charles: What color is my skin?!
Daryl: White why?
Charles: No you're lying
( Runs out and runs into a random man)
Charles: Sorry
Man: Are you blind made me spill my damn coffee
Charles: Sorry Sir but please can you tell me the truth?
Man: Yeah about what? Whats wrong kid?
Charles: What color is my skin?
Man: White
( Stands there in shock and breaks down crying )
Voice of a man: Charles its time to come home
Charles: I dont wanna pa
Father: Why not?
Charles: Because
Father: Charles it doesnt matter if you're black, white, yellow, green, purple, or gray you're still you on the inside and that what matters so come home and eat your supper.
Charles: Yes pa
So it turned out I wasnt black but I still was treated like one because I was poor and I supported blacks I soon became a white blind civil rights activist who marched with Dr.King, witnessed Rosa Parks inccident, heard Dr.Kings speech, and went face to face with Klan with my best friend Daryl. So I may not have had black skin but I did have respect for myself and the ones who were black.

[Carbon64]

The Truth Behind Being Blind

I wasn't born blind
Unlike those who were born this way I know what it's like to see
Some say that makes my blindness more unfortunate
However, I believe having the opportunity to see my family or watch a movie makes me lucky
Blind life isn't so bad
I can still find my way around house and conversations with my family are the same
But, there really isn't a positive in being blind either
I didn't become a superhero or gain a sixth sense
My life has changed but, it hasn't been flip turned upside down
I guess what I wanted to say is being blind is something you can get used to
Sure there are times I wake up and wish I had just left my sleep mask on
Sometimes I wish this is a dream and one day I'll wake up being able to see again
But, the longer I am blind the less I miss being able to see

Word count: 162

[Elixur]

Jupiter's Eye

Dedicated to Gregory

It's comical how the simplest pleasures can bring so much joy in one's life. Something as mundane as sunlight, as it dances along Earth's atmosphere like quicksilver, can be humbling in it's presence and bring about feelings of nostalgia as it embraces the skin like a long lost lover. Our eyes drink in the day and all it's monotony as the world unfolds, revealing itself. In some ways can entice and completely satisfy the soul bringing it that much closer to nirvana. Filling our minds with all sorts of wonder and mysticism harbouring an unquenchable passion just aching to burst free like a newly born phoenix from it's mother's ashes. Unfortunately, not all are blessed equally under lady luck's well endowed bosom.

The blind with everything that it implies and entails is a subject that has long been distant yet increasingly of interest to me as well as bred curiosity. I wish nothing more than to spill my thoughts and offer my perspective. I do not pretend to understand how someone so critically handicapped goes about and attends to their day to day activities, to me it seems like the ultimate martyrdom of the senses. To be so cruelly dealt such a hand of fate and then be ordered to a lifetime of a consuming sea of darkness is a thought that chills me to my very bones. To be part of a world where only what you can touch, smell, or hear makes any sense as you form a mental image, seems incredibly challenging to me, however I'm sure to someone born this way is just second nature. I've also heard of special cases where people experience "phantom vision" a truly baffling phenomenon where the victim conjures apparitions either from memory or imagination and has seemingly no control over the manifestation until it subsides. I've yet to touch on the important question at hand however, how is life for a blind person? Well, to answer that we're going to have to dive deeper into the psyche and explore the other side of the human condition.

I have personal experience with someone cursed with blindness, my high school English teacher. He wasn't born blind, but had been for so long he had probably forgotten the minor details of the world. He was the type of guy who would give you the shirt off his back and every time he opened his mouth he had something inspiring or hilarious to say. He was one cool cat and I eventually came to think of him as more than a teacher, a friend. He was also my creative writing (poetry) teacher and he pulled me aside multiple times throughout my years with him and told me how much he admired my work. Needless to say I was flattered and really valued his opinion considering his profession and his love for free form jazz, which collecting vinyls was a long standing hobby of his. He often enjoyed deviating from the normal routine and had a particular interest in getting the class out of the boring interior of the school and out into the fresh air. I remember him saying something along the lines of:

"If you sit around waiting for the spark of creativity to hit you you'll never get anywhere, you have to get up and get moving. Let your hand write whatever comes to mind, it doesn't matter if you're not satisfied with it, you can toss the paper and start fresh. If you never write anything you never get anything done."

Now, five years later, I couldn't recall a single memorable thing my other teachers had said, yet the words of this man rung more true to my ears than anything else taught to me at that school. This man was more than a teacher, he felt he had a moral obligation to express all of his wisdom in whichever manner he could. He was my hero, but for me to really explain to you the type of man he is, I need to tell you more about his life. He worked alongside his wife, whom was also a teacher at the same school and had suffered brain damage through comatose many years prior. This left her with one dysfunctional leg and was the source for many stares. Despite the hardships the two had to go through to be together they not only managed, but flourished as a couple. The sight of seeing the two together gossiping and sharing food at lunch time was heart warming and honestly one of the cutest things I have ever seen. They were clearly made for each other.

One day, having been ill for several days, I was forced to stay after school to catch up on my work while receiving minor tutoring. It was during this time, alone together, that I was honored with seeing his more vulnerable side. He was always prone to getting side tracked during class, often times giving short stories that contained within them life lessons that really made you reflect on yourself within the context of the world. Knowing this, I decided to take a leap and asked him "What is it like to be blind, do you consider it a burden?" I still remember his face, as his grin cracked to both sides of his snowy white mustache.

"People see others through their flaws, if you remove vision all that is left is who the person truly is. My ears cannot choose when to listen, but my heart can. I have been blessed with many things in my life; my loving and sexy wife(he shouts so she can hear next door, next thing I hear is her cackling), beautiful daughter, a job that I look forward to every single day. Just because I was given a rusty instrument doesn't mean I don't have an important part in this play."

With these personal words, I had an epiphany of sorts, I smiled and continued silently working.

I'll never forget the impact this man had on me, how he sculpted and redefined the ways in which I view the world. I almost consider him a second father, although I would never confess that to him. His soul is gorgeous and my only wish is that more people like him existed to help pave a brighter tomorrow. He touched a part of me that not many are able, my introverted cynical ways often shutting people out to preserve my self dignity and privacy. The jaded parts of me view humanity as more blind than any bat; straining relationships, allowing tempers to flail, passing blame to thy neighbor, ignoring the homeless, it's all so mind numbing and tiring, all the while I'm just a worthless onlooker unable to offer advice or assistance. The righteous go without reward and the criminal retain the bounty. We're a thunderously uncouth creature that should be locked away, but I stray from the topic at hand. Who's truly blind here?

It could be said that we are all blind to each other's desires and well being. The sort of man who has it within himself to reach out with an honest and sincere hand is a rare thing indeed. We should all strive for a paradise where we can co-exist, our words and actions celestial in nature, our hearts equally as tender. Whether this is in the realm of possibility remains to be seen, for it is up to us to aspire for greatness and remove the veil that blinds us. To walk among the clouds and soak up the divine rays is one of many options that lay in our future. My own nightingale has visited and steered me onto the correct path while I was still stumbling my way through the dark. I hope for nothing more than my little tale to plant a small seed inside your conscious; with enough care and the river of time's swift guidance you shall see the fruits it bears. Maybe we're destined to an eternal tomb of bludgeoned eyeballs, I'm not the pillar of knowledge, so I possess no concrete answers. I can say, however, that I've had the fortune to come in contact with somebody who encompasses perfection, whom many others would consider "imperfect".

"In the valley of the blind, the one-eyed man is king"
-August Wilson

Word Count~1378 (Not including the end quote, approximation)

[LULZ64]

"Hey, Jack?" Howell looked dead into Jack's eyes. "How old are you exactly?" Jack shifted a little in his seat.
"Like, eleven?"
"Oh..." Howell wiggled his nose in the shady, foggy hills of Buffalo. "That's nice, Jack." He hovered his hand over Jack's knee. "That's nice."
"What are you doing, Howell?"
"Nothing, just inspecting your knee." Just then, Howell spontaneously rushed Jack down. Howell held Jack's arms above his head and simultaneously unbuckled Jack's belt.
"No, Howell, no! You'll get sent into jail again!"
"Bitch, I don't care. I just want some pootie tang!"
"No, Howell! Stop! It hurts!" Howell continued ravaging through Jack's pants. Howell's erection was glowing under the moonlight's warm cone. Then suddenly... Penetration.
"Mmm, boy. You know you like it."
"Oh god! Why, Howell, why?!" Quicker than ever before, something slammed against Howell's head. The object was silent, but the sound of Howell's thudding body made the night sky tremorous.
"Are you okay?" A woman walked over to Jack. She spoke with a hard voice, as if she hadn't even noticed she had shot a man. "Here." She reached out her hand, letting Jack take confidence in her stature. But Jack had refused the woman's help. "Cautious... That's good." The woman smacked Jack and swiftly lifted him and just as briskly threw him down to the floor. "Bitch, you is weak. I'm go'n train yo ass."

And that's the story of how Jack met The Boss.
____________________________________________________________
________________________________________________
Oh, and by the way: When I win (and I will...), you guys better get Emily-Youcis on dis shiz or else all of your genitalia will be strung across the magical land of Equestria.

[ProgressStudios]

TITLE : Nothing is how it seems. 1907 Characters, Round About 365 Words

Tic Toc... Tic Toc...
As the violet pointer rotated around the golden grand clock it felt like time itself was watching me but I couldn't watch him.
The only way I knew to tell the time was to listen to the humming bird on a cold winter evening sing his magical song which would ring my ears sending a feeling of hope through my crippled body as I sat in the old, cold, dark room alone.

As I slowly lifted up out of my old arm chair I could feel the floor beneath me crumble away as toast would crumble in a child's fingers as they press together. As I fall I could hear the sound of nothing fading away it was as if I was falling into the forever nothingness.

I was a puppet on a string.

Helpless alone without my trusty Labrador 'LuLu', I could not navigate nor speak without him by my side. All I had was my sense of hearing which was old and deteriorated from the crashing noises of men.

As I hit the ground it morphed around me and it burst out as I had hit a pool of features stuck together by the slime of alien hominid. It reminds me of my child hood on a hot summers day when I played in the mud splashing like a four year old in a bubble bath.

As I slowly escaped from the slime which held me prisoner for the eternity that it slept there but it felt like a second in my eyes "hu the irony", I slowly squeezed into this two dimensional like world were smell and touch come together.

I stumbled along the rusty road, At least I think it was a road?

I could feel the grass moving along my feat but I slowly started to feel intoxicated a I rapidly lost all feeling in my body, It felt like I was being erased from existence.

Rushing Quickly I jumped and seemed to fall out of the world and land straight back in my old arm chair with my kind, friendly, loving dog LuLu.

I was relived at last!

And could you believe that...

I only went to get a cup of tea

[mhzinski]

Droste - mh - 1200 words

---

The nurse told Don that his room overlooked Lullwater Park. She told him the view would be pleasant, pneumonia was common, and he would be out of the hospital, pain free, in a few weeks time. Veteran Affairs lies to people like that.
âEU¨
Six months later, Don was sitting in a wheelchair facing his window into the "pleasant" Lullwater Park. Finished with his morning medication. His white and silver plastic eye patch hung over his left eye, scarring from an electrical burn he received in Korea over his right. A chipped hexagonal pencil was fitted broodingly between the fingers on his right hand, and a crisp spiral bound sketchpad sat on his thigh. He felt the tip of his pencil slide along grooves that he had long since imprinted on the page, his head leaned forward, exposed eye vacant.
âEU¨
The "in and out" stay had resulted in far more sanitary sounds and smells than he would care to remember. Too many gurney wheel rushing past his door late at night; the sounds of staff members' calm and authoritative voices telling people to "keep calm, you are in good hands, you will be alright..."
âEU¨
He can't remember the last time a staff member talked about his condition, though he remembers there were at least three people in his room about a week ago. They were mumbling to themselves about him, something to do with his family history. "Macular degeneration runs in his family", that's all he remembers.
âEU¨
A click behind him signaled the door was being opened. Don didn't bother to turn around he wheelchair but stopped tracing as he heard two sets of shoes slide into his room.
âEU¨
"Tyler," the sound of condescension from one of the nurses. Obviously she was talking to a child. Don sighed, knowing what was next. "This is Mr. Lanier, do you best to keep him company," she paused. "Don't worry if doesn't say nothing back to you, he's just a little shy is all". The feigned sweetness of the nurse's words pierced Don. "I'm sure you'll both have lots to talk about". She giggled softly. The nursing clogs retreated and the door clicked shut.
âEU¨
About twice a month or so, kids and adults from the nearby parishes in Decatur came to visit patients at the VA Hospital to "spread the light of the Lord" to them. There were no spiritual undertones, just casual conversation for the people with nobody to talk to. The seemingly anodyne visits irritated Don though, he thought of them as mental chalk scratches along the wall of his room, marking the length of his incarceration. Every time anyone from outside the bubble of the hospital entered or exited it reminded him that he was trapped, at the mercy of the gurneys and smell of alcohol, surrounded by the decay of his generation. Constantly reminded of it. This wasn't the kid's fault, but he sure wasn't going to help "enlighten" him.
âEU¨
"Uh... hello," the chair squeaked from the wall behind him. The kid's voice was very soft and timid, as though he wasn't even sure if Don was there; a very genuine imploring tone. The kid gave a nervous laugh that sounded more like a gasp "Isn't it a pleasant day? It's so warm and peaceful. I really do love the spring in Georgia."
âEU¨
Don slid his tongue across his top front teeth, thinking of the things he'd like to do to the next person who called anything pleasant. There was a long pause in the room. The two of them hanging there like ripe peaches in the mid-morning sun.
âEU¨
"W...Well what are you drawing?" the kid finally piped up. Don placed his free hand over the spirals on the notebook. "Is it the park?"
âEU¨
Don tongued a âEU~K' sound and lifted the pad straight up over his left shoulder so the kid could view the sketchpad. He waited for a few seconds and heard no reply. He shifted in his wheelchair and broke the silence with a firm "See?" fluttering the pad back and forth in his hand.
âEU¨
"Yeah...Yeah I see," came the hesitant reply.
"Well?" Don thought he could hear the sound of the kid thinking.
"It's... um... pleasant," the kid nervously responded. Don felt his brow sink at the kid's remark.
"No it is not," He fired back. "You're not even looking, this is just scribble."
"But I... I mean..."
"Don't try and defend that, I don't even have a clue what I've been drawing! There is no way anyone finds this garbage a "pleasant" thing to look at!"
âEU¨
Don took a breath. Shaking partly with the release of six months frustration and partly with exhaustion.
âEU¨
"You don't need to patronize and old man just because you think he's miserable," he shouted against the windowpane. Leaving the hot silence ringing in the room.
âEU¨
"I was just... trying to be polite," Tyler replied gently, sniffling at the outburst. Don shifted again in his wheelchair.
âEU¨
"I can't see it," he said finally.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I can't see it, I can't see anything," his voice was now choking up, on the verge of crying. Don spun his wheelchair around to face the door and the kid. He felt his tongue swell up in his mouth and his stomach sink.
âEU¨
Tyler was sitting on his hands in the visitor's chair by the door. Don peeled up his eye patch and tried to make out his features as best he could through a deteriorating left eye. Beneath his shaggy brown hair he saw his misty blue-gray eyes, bent slightly outward, looking out straight ahead, unresponsive.
âEU¨
"Jesus, kid, you should've said something," Don muttered, rolling himself closer to the boy. "I had no idea."
"We're supposed to make these visits about the veterans," he whimpered. "They tell us at the church meetings that you don't want to hear about our lives, that it makes you sad." Don put his head in his palm, dropping his pencil.
"I just wanted to be polite," he squeaked again, streaming tears. "They just tell us to try and make you guys happy. I'm sorry I upset you."
âEU¨
Don didn't know what to do. He noticed how bizarre it was watching a blind kid cry. Tyler was obviously torn up but he was still vacant, sad in almost an infinite existential way, not directed at any stimulus of misery. The man didn't want to touch him at the risk of surprising him and upsetting him further.
âEU¨
"Look kid, I'm sorry," Don said leaning in towards the boy. "I'm blind a lot too, mentally I mean... and physically" He tried to pull the kid out of his fit but he seemed too enraptured in his sadness to hear him. Don blushed. "I said I'm sorry, kid, Christ," he was almost shouting. Making things worse. All he achieved was a wet and raw chorus of anguish.

âEU¨He flipped his eye patch back down and wheeled himself over to the window. He faced out over the pleasant view of Lullwater Park. Leaning his head against the windowpane, he waited for the nurse to come retrieve the kid; and for the first time in a long time, he wept.

[BrutalSurvivor]

GREAT SORROW

I... I have lost my reasons for living due to my sight. Everything I had disappeared, or is soon going to disappear: Love, job, and soon my life. I am not afraid of death anymore. My name is Mike Madison, I am 22, and I have suffered an awful eye disease. It welcomed me with such great depression. My girlfriend, Mary Thompson, she's just a bitch who wanted my money. No parents or any other part of my family lives near, its just me. I really didn't like the thought of suicide, but it was my only option to get out of this hell hole. I have trouble just by attempting to find my cane in the morning after I wake up. Just when I have the courage to put a knife up to my chest, aiming at my heart [I think]. I hear the doorbell. I walk to my front door and open it. I smelled a gross odor, so I take it that it might be a hobo. "Go away, I don't have any beans for you nor any time." I said. Just when I was about to close the door I heard a young little boy's voice with a British accent. "Please sir, may I have some food?" I was now sure that it was not a hobo, but a little boy. I just remembered I don't have any food, but I do have some tea. "Umm... why don't you come in for some tea instead." So five minutes later we're both having tea and talking. It turns out he was just a seven year old little boy who ran away from an orphanage that abused him and many other kids. I really felt sorry for him. The only thing I told him is about the reason why I'm blind. Then all of a sudden, I hear the doorbell. I hear the little boy putting down his cup of tea and running away. I get up and walk with my cane to the door again. I then take off my blind glasses and set them on a desk next to the door. I open the door and then my eyes. "Yes?" I asked. I heard an old woman's voice. "Have you seen a little boy run by?" I don't know this boy, this could be his mother. So I said "Yes, he came by and offered some food." I think back to when we were talking. I remember the way he explained. He sounded scared, but I'm not sure of these things. I'm not a detective, I wouldn't understand if he was telling a lie or not. She asks "Well? Where is he?" I.. I don't know what to do. I hear him sniffling back there. I need to do what's right. "He.. I.." I can't say it. She says impatiently "Spit it out, where is he." I answer " He.. left. I gave him food and he ran off, simple as that." She thanks for the information and then she left my house. The boy comes out and says " Thank you, sir." I reply. "So what was your name? Richard, right? Would you like Madison to be your last name, and you can call me dad if you like." Richard then cries "*sniff* thank you.. thank you sir I mean... dad." We lived off as the relationship of a father and son. That is my final and greatest reason to live: my son, Richard Madison. [624 words 2,887character used]

[coolkid87]

âEUoeSecond ThoughtsâEU by Jake LaFauci

The time is the middle of October, 1st quarter of High School, and High School East, in Long Island, New York, was just your typical, average high school. You have the average kids who do well and donâEUTMt bother people, your typical nerds who live on computers and technology, and you got your kids who think theyâEUTMre hot shit and popular. Tyler Farrston (senior) was one of those kids. He and his friends would always do what they want, whenever they want, all the time. Everything would go his way, he would get good grades, maintain an above average social life, and was just your average popular jerk. Most days in high school, he and his friends would always pick on this one kid, more than they would to other kids. That one kid was Andrew Lanstein (senior). This kid was one of the nicest people you would ever meet, he was smart, and he hardly did anything he wasnâEUTMt supposed. He was also proven to be 70% blind. He also had a helper follow him around so he can get by in school. When his helper wasnâEUTMt looking or went to the bathroom or just wasnâEUTMt around him in general, Tyler and his jerk friends would call him names and pick on him, sometimes even physically abuse him if they got lucky. Andrew was okay with it though, and not because he was too shy to go to the principal, but he knew he was better than him.

With that information out of the way, the real story begins now. Tyler and two of his friends went to science class that day, and they were in the middle of a lab including actual experimentation with compound chemicals. His friends were fooling around, while he was actually trying to work and pass the lab, considering it was to be 15% of his first quarter grade. He turns to them and says quietly, so no one else can hear him, âEUoeWill you two dumbasses stop being idiots and actually work?!âEU They were pretty mad at him and responded âEUoeYou always do this Tyler, hold us back when were trying to have a little fun.âEU And they were right even though Tyler was doing the right thing. He would always stop his friends whenever they were about to do something that crossed the line. Tyler got mad and tried to take the flask full of a dangerous compound, but his friend fought back, and in the end, Tyler was the one who payed the price, as his friend let go in their little game of tug of war, causing recoil in Tylers hand, making the liquid go from the flask into his eyes. He was sent to the chemical shower, and the Good Samaritan Hospital emergency room later. After certain eye exams and treatments, it was official...Tyler was blind. forever.

He knew his life would never be the same, and so it wasnâEUTMt. Ever since the dispute, Tyler lost a few of his friends, but that wasnâEUTMt it. Since he was blind, he couldnâEUTMt do almost all of the things he could do before the incident. He couldnâEUTMt hang out on weekends, play sports, drive his car, do homework, take tests, basically he couldnâEUTMt do anything with his current life, he even had to be homeschooled. Because of this, he lost all of his friends due to having no contact with them and that popularity he worked up from year one of high school...vanished. He knew all of this and the pain was eating him alive. Six months of being blind and depressed later he was going through his mental yearbook and remembered the kid he picked on for years, Andrew. He realized if being blind is this hard from him, it must of been hell for Andrew considering heâEUTMs been through this longer than Tyler. He decided it would be the right thing to apologize for all those years of torment. He had his mother drive him to school at the end of the school day and help him spot him out. He found him, walked up to him and greeted him gently. Andrew stayed silent, so Tyler told him with sorrow âEUoeIâEUTMm sorry for everything man. I know how hard it is to be blind now that iâEUTMve seen it for myself. Is there anyway, you can ever forgive me?âEU It was a weak apology, but being Tyler, it was what he thought was good enough. Andrew then responded, and not kindly nor lengthy, with two simple words that decided TylerâEUTMs fate. Andrew said âEUoeYou donâEUTMt know my story, piss off.âEU After that, Tyler wondered âEUoeDo I have anything in my life? What do I live for? Does god hate me?âEU All of these negative thoughts caused him to choose his fate. Through his memory of his home kitchen, he goes to the knife drawer, and ends his life.

Tylers funeral was two weeks later, and all of his lost friends attended. All of them saying kind words and filled with sorrow, even Andrew showed up and forgiven him over his casket. Not one of them realized that they were the cause of his suicide, they left him to rot in his house when he couldnâEUTMt do anything, but lay on his bed and get homeschooled. About two years later, an annual charity event in Tylers name was created to raise money to help the blinded in hospitals and homes across the world.

But is it everything all good and cheery? Do you think Tyler is just watching over in the heavens above just forgiving those who left him, or is he cursing their names out every chance he gets? Do his friends ever feel guilt over leaving him in his house?

Does anyone ever have any second thoughts? Like Tyler did?

The end.

[MrTheJazz]

Title - Tiresias

Part One.

Hello there, young friend. Ya know, ya aren't the first person to ask me if it's difficult being blind. I always tell 'em, "Difficult compared to what?" See, I was born blind, so asking me that is kind of like asking me if I miss not having something that never existed. Now, it is hard to keep a good job fer me, but I suppose that's what things like disability are for. Naw, see you donâEUTMt understand. That last part was a joke. Disability requires paperwork, which you can imagine is a little hard fer someone like me when I donâEUTMt have anyone.

That said, junior, I donâEUTMt want your pity. Myself, I don't entirely mind it, being blind that is. People say that being blind helps yer other senses stay sharper. Again, I have nothing to compare that to, but I imagine itâEUTMs probably true. My senses are pretty sharp these days. My favorite sense is touch. Why, there are things out there that jess feel amazinâEUTM, if you stop and take the time to feel âEU~em, to focus on it, be mindful âEU~bout it. ItâEUTMs the main reason I grew my beard. I love the feel of it. Well, that and itâEUTMs kind of difficult to shave accurately. DonâEUTMt be ridiculous, itâEUTMs not the fact that IâEUTMd cut myself. I feel the razor on my skin of course. I jess donâEUTMt always get it looking quite right, ya know what I mean now, to others.

But oh yes, touch is my favorite. Ya see this here tin? It contains some of my favorite things to touch. IâEUTMm sure youâEUTMre curious and all, but you see theyâEUTMre kind ofâEU¦kind of personal to me. IâEUTMm âEU~specially partial to this one object I found. Never quite figured out what it was. I kind of like the mystery oâEUTM things sometimes, but this object, it was different. At first I thought it was a snake. Now IâEUTMve never touched a snake before, but IâEUTMve been to school, so I know how theyâEUTMre supposed ta be. TheyâEUTMre supposed to be elongated, rubbery, somewhat smooth, not entirely slimy. Because of the scales, yer supposed to feel the ridges on it.

Now this thing, it was a little different. It was somewhat smooth. It had the little ridges, but it was very slimy. It was warm too, like sticking yer hands in some warm milk, only there was a lot more texture to it. It was such a fantastic feeling to touch, unlike anything IâEUTMve ever touched before. And whatever it was, it was far too long to be a snake. It jess kept going on and on, like one oâEUTM them magician handkerchiefs.

How do I know what a handkerchief is? Well, now IâEUTMm no fool. I may have never seen a magician perform, but IâEUTMve been to them old shops when I was a kid. I remember the smell of one of the shops, the smell of new toys and old hickory. I was quite into magic tricks when I was a kid. I always liked tricking and fooling people. Never kept with it though. Everything back then was card tricks, and trying to guess someoneâEUTMs cards? Seemed like a silly thing. They didnâEUTMt have brail on the cards like some of them do now. I wish it were different. Really do. I really wanted to be a magician as a kid, but I canâEUTMt complain. My lifeâEUTMs been pretty good so far. I mean, at least IâEUTMm still alive.

I tell you something else that was funny about that thing I touched. It had a strange smell. IâEUTMll be honest, it didnâEUTMt smell too great. It smelt a little bit like iron and almonds. Have ya ever taken an iron supplement? I did for a while, because I had a deficiency. Ya ever smell the pill? No? I wouldnâEUTMt expect ya to. But I did. Well anyway, thatâEUTMs what it smelled likeâEU¦yesâEU¦and come to think of it, the texture was completely off fer it to have been a snake. It was too squishy, too spongelike. You could almost jess wring it out like oneâEU¦

Now son, you asked me earlier what itâEUTMs like to be blind. Well, that reminds me of a philosophical question of sorts. If you were born blind, and nobody told you that you were blind, how would you know it? ItâEUTMs an easy question, really. The answer is, you wouldnâEUTMt know. In yer mind, everything would be normal. Well, itâEUTMs kind of like that fer me. I know from society that IâEUTMm blind, but for me, that word means nothing. I know there are such things as colors. I know that green or red or blue are supposed to exist, but I donâEUTMt really know what those things are. IâEUTMve never experienced them, so as far as IâEUTMm concerned, youâEUTMre all crazy.

But, you see, blindness and perceiving ainâEUTMt the same thing. IâEUTMm blind, but I perceive my environment jess fine. I know whatâEUTMs around me. I know, instinctively, on some emotional level, that you pity me. DonâEUTMt argue it, itâEUTMs true, and I donâEUTMt hold it against ya, kid. I know whatâEUTMs what. How many people who see can say the same?

Now if youâEUTMll hang around for a minute, IâEUTMd like to explain more of this to you, but only to you. I like ya kid. You see any people nearby? No? Good, Good. Now before I say anything, I was kind of wonderinâEUTM. Some jerk knocked over my hat earlier and spilled coins all over the place. People these days jess donâEUTMt have the same sense of respect they used to. Do you see some of them? Could ya help me pick them up? Thank you so muchâEU¦

âEU¦And I apologize fer what IâEUTMm about to doâEU¦

*****

Where are ya? Well, son, yer the one with the eyes, you tell me. I really am sorry I had ta tie ya up like I did, and fer what IâEUTMm âEU~bout to do. Hunh, I bet ya didnâEUTMt think a blind man can tie a rope? I actually picked it up quite easy, fer yer information. I bet itâEUTMs harder fer people who see to tie knots. I bet itâEUTMs true.

Now, now, no need to scream. It wonâEUTMt change a thing. ThatâEUTMs why I have this gag here. IâEUTMm kind of disappointed, honestly. Now I know that the natural inclination of a person in a position such as yours is to scream, but I was kind of hoping to actually have a conversation with ya before things reverted to that. Oh well, I guess itâEUTMs too late now. See now, this is exactly the kind of thing I was talkinâEUTM about. Ya looked at me, saw a blind man who needed help, but ya didnâEUTMt perceive me now, did ya? So whoâEUTMs really blind?

By now yer probably wunderinâEUTM all sorts oâEUTM things, like why yer tied up, or if IâEUTMm gonna let ya go, or what IâEUTMm gonna do. I bet yer mind is in all sorts of places. Well, let me start with that lass question first. Well what IâEUTMm gonna do is confess somethinâEUTM to ya. I lied when I told ya that I never figured out what that object I touched was. See, living on the streets isnâEUTMt always easy. People are quick to take advantage of an olâEUTM blind man. Sometimes, they take yer coins when yer not lookinâEUTM. Othertimes, theyâEUTMll point a gun right to yer face, which is always funny. They expect me ta react ta that. They forget I canâEUTMt see the blasted thing. Othertimes, if I pull out a dollar bill ta buy somethinâEUTM, people will take advantage oâEUTM the fact that I have no idea if IâEUTMm holding a one or a twenty, and cheat me.

Sometimes, ya jess flat out find yerself in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I first started livinâEUTM on the streets it was like that. IâEUTMm much more in tune with my environment now. I know things. ItâEUTMs the reason nobodyâEUTMs coming ta help ya, so ya might as well stop yer squirminâEUTM.

[MrTheJazz]

Here's Part 2. Sorry about the screwed up apostrophes in the formatting.

See, one night, I overheard some shuffling noise coming not far from the alleyway I was sleepinâEUTM in. I generally try ta stay out of the alleys, stay out of trouble, but I heard a muffled voice and some men shushing her. The voice sounded female, but it was hard ta tell because, well because it was muffled oâEUTM course. Soon the muffled voice turned into a muffled scream. I never heard such a scream, like the howl of a banshee. Even with the mufflinâEUTM sound it shook the alleyway. The scream didnâEUTMt sound quite right. It didnâEUTMt jess sound like the scream of someone who was scared. It sounded like something happened ta her. I just did my best ta hide, wonderinâEUTM what ta do.

Pretty soon I hear a deep, male voice ring out like a bell, âEUoeWhat did you see old man?âEU
Then another voice, âEUoeClark, look, heâEUTMs blind. We got what we came for. LetâEUTMs just get out of here.âEU

I stumbled around, looking fer the woman. I didnâEUTMt hear nothinâEUTM. No moans, no crying. NothinâEUTM. Soon, I feel a few round bumps, and on the backside a hard, smooth part. Her toes. I felt my way around the woman, trying ta feel where they cut her. It wasnâEUTMt jess some small stab wound. They went and cut her all the way open. I didnâEUTMt mean to place my hands there. I wasnâEUTMt expectinâEUTM ta feel what I felt, but thatâEUTMs when I felt it. The first thing my hands landed on were her intestines, but it felt soâEU¦wonderful. So warm and inviting on such a cold night. It was impossible that she was still alive.

I should have called fer help, and I did, jess not right away. Ya see, like I say, life is hard on the streets, and I had gone two days without a single thing ta eat. My curiosity and hunger got the better of me. I didnâEUTMt think I could get away with nibblinâEUTM on the guts. They jess felt real good, but I thought IâEUTMd try to taste her blood. If the police saw my DNA on one of their tests, IâEUTMd just say I was tryinâEUTM ta help her. It was partially true, anyway. DNA or not, nobody would believe that a blind man killed her or even did anythinâEUTM to her. I scooped my hand into her, and took a sip of the warm liquid. What do you know? It tasted jess like warm milk too! It felt so good jess ta have somethinâEUTM in my belly again.

When I had enough ta satisfy me, and after I had cleaned myself up again, and I called fer the police. They saw me as pretty useless fer a witness. All I could tell âEU~em was the name Carl and a guy with a deep voice. They didnâEUTMt expect a thing.

Well, IâEUTMm sure ya know how these things go. I started studyinâEUTM places to hide bodies, started lookinâEUTM fer places that people never went to, places where I could hide people like you and nobody would hear ya, and I learned ta live on the streets as a hunter instead of the hunted.
I got real good at findinâEUTM people who donâEUTMt perceive very well. I developed a taste fer it.

Well, thatâEUTMs the story. Now ya see and ya perceive. Ta answer yer question, whatâEUTMs it like ta be blind, the only way you can really know is ta experience it fer yerself, which I intend ta help ya do, and by the way it jess so happens that the items in my tin are startinâEUTM ta dry. When IâEUTMm finished with yer eyes, IâEUTMll let ya touch âEU~em, I promise. You deserve ta know how wonderful they feel. IâEUTMll let ya touch yer intestines too. I promise youâEUTMll appreciate the feelinâEUTM. Jess try to stay alive long enough ta enjoy it.

[LazyBoyGames]

Thief

Nobody suspects much of a blind man. I am seen as an individual who has gotten the short stick in life so instinctually people feel sorry for me. This empathy that others feel is touching. It really is. So much so that it almost makes me feel bad that I am a manipulative asshole.
I imagine that I look so feeble fumbling down the street with my walking stick. An âEUoeaccidentalâEU bump here and there is all it takes. My hand shifts through their valuables as I give a polite âEUoeOh IâEUTMm sorryâEU. âEUoeItâEUTMs okayâEU the dumb bimbo says with pity in her voice. Do not feel bad for me maâEUTMam. This poor bastard just scored twenty bucks.
I have been thieving since the beginning of my childhood. My first experience as a thief happened when visiting a local corner store. I was down a couple dimes, so I could not purchase a chocolate bar that I so much desired. Fighting my conscious I stuffed it in my pocket. I was nervous as hell, but my blind ass managed to stumble past the register and out the door. The clerk did not suspect a thing. It was such a rush and it came so easy! Sixty four years later and that feeling never get old.
One would think that after all these years I would have been caught. It astounds me as well. I understand the pity aspect but quite frankly people are just too stupid. God damn it people open your eyes! It is almost as if they are blind.