"I'm going to remove the bandages now."
Paul von Oberstein had been blind since birth. Now, a few seconds ago, as his mother gleefully cheered 'Happy Seventh Birthday Paul!' the doctors were beginning to remove the bandages on his newly implanted artificial eyes. Young Paul was excited and would have been bouncing about in his hospital bed if it wasn't drastically against his regal upbringing. He wondered what the world would be like. He was most excited to learn about color. His mom had told him about them, vibrant reds and deep blues, but all he knew was the dark blackness. And there was his mother as well. He would feel her face when she would let him. He wondered how faces looked. They seemed such a strange jumble of shapes that even when he felt them on his own face they amazed him. The doctors had moved, he could hear them shuffling around his bed.
"Alright, when you're ready."
Paul took a deep breath and slowly cracked his eyes open. His eyes whirred and blinked to life. The room came into view, the white of the doctor's coats, his mother's plain face, and the gray of the hospital walls. He looked down at his own hands, staring at his fingers for the first time, the longest time, and whimpered.
"Is… is that it…?"