Prompt: Blinded By Time

Any time a post begins with "Prompt:" it's a scene or story written from a prompt picked randomly from my Pinterest board, "Prompts."

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BLINDED BY TIME

Can you help me? I laugh. When you've been blind as long as I have, your other senses get sharp. And you gain new ones. A sixth sense, yes, sure. I nod and blink, and maybe you've never seen a blind person blink or even move as skillfully as I, but I'm not necessarily the average blind person.

Ah, yes. Everyone wants to know how it happened, but it's not much of a story. Or, you had to be there. It's not nearly as exciting when you don't live it.

You insist, do you?

I laugh again. Sure. You do insist. Well, let me just say that I didn't ask for it. And, like all the worst wounds, it happened because of someone that I cared very much about.

I had only just become immortal - but maybe that's another story for another day. My eyes were bright - and a visionary blue, mind, not frosty like they are now. And I had fallen in love. 

Everyone says they'd rather not become immortal, because when you're immortal, you watch everyone you ever care about die. You see everything they ever go through. But, of course, I didn't believe it - hogwash, I said. I turned a - excuse the pun, a blind eye to the problem. Ignorance truly is bliss, after all. And with my un-aging heart, I fell in love. Deeper in love than I believe many get the chance to fall into. It was beautiful - divine is the only really accurate word to describe it. Angelic, impossibly romantic and platonic, black and white, innocent and terribly guilty. The highest mountains and the deepest valleys. 

Most people give up immortality so they don't have to lose those they love. I lost mine anyway. 

He gave up on me. He knew about my - my "gift," he called it, and told me that he couldn't stand to hurt me like that. He gave up on my strength, gave up on belief, gave up on faith, until we were suddenly separated.

It was like I'd lost wings - the only perfect part of me gone, leaving me screaming agony, sobbing torrents, pulling at every loose piece of me and rubbing myself raw. There seemed to be nothing left, and when I was finally done crying - 

Well, I had a dream. I'd been "blessed" again, they said. Instead of being a nameless (and now soulless) immortal, I'd be given the right of a goddess. But with a sacrifice. No sight - only a clock. An endless, ticking clock.

I've given up on being bitter, you don't have to worry about that.

You look at me with an empty face, that questions the truth of my lies. And I just smile and tell you that, no, they aren't contacts. And there's a reason I haven't a grey hair on my head.