"You should get out more often." Jack snorted at the voice, trying to ignore the obvious concern. "I'm fine in here." And he was: he had a kitchen, bathroom and bed, he didn't need anything more. At least not the things everyone kept pestering him about. No I don't need a radio to keep me company, and how do you think I can care for a dog in my state?
A soft sigh had Jack frown as the voice spoke again. "I'm always going to be here Jack, you need to meet other people." He had no idea what she looked like, but Jack was sure Angela was a beautiful woman who had more to do than caring for a crippled old man. "I'm fine Angela." His voice sounded tired. She was quiet, soft footsteps approaching him. "I'll be back tomorrow." She kissed his forehead, having to probably stand on the tip of her toes, and left the cramped apartment, leaving the man alone once again.
Jack Morrison at the rather young age of 43, or so he argued, was blind. No one would immediately notice as his eyes managed to just dull in colour and many saw it as a sign of his age rather than an actual disability. The pale crystal blue of his eyes were still stunning, but nothing compared to what he used to have in his youth.
Those who knew of his tragedy kept themselves busy with theories as to how he went blind: Old age, genetics and even a rather long and humorous story involving a rooster. But the truth was dull and boring, not nearly as exciting as him seeking the death of a poor bird to avenge his family.
Jack Morrison is an ex-veteran, discharged due to injury. It was a mission gone wrong on too many levels which honed to many memories for him to think back on, at least he won't be able to see the pitying eyes of those who knew the true story behind it all… or at least the eyes of Angela, his own personal nurse provided by the government in what they would call a 'peace-offering' or some shit.
It still didn't stop Angela from sighing as she kept the ugly truth to herself as others would keep spewing theories and poking at him to reveal the true mystery behind it all. Damn kids.
After his discharge therapy, Jack moved into his current crappy apartment in L.A. where he was willing to die of old age… which might still take a few more years give or take. Although he held a high rank and was well-respected, he refused any help except for the monthly funding to keep his refrigerator stocked.
The once golden-boy who would be honoured by everything the government was willing to offer, died and spawned a grumpy man who sneered at them as he could practically see their smug faces and 'Charity-case' stamped across his forehead. He knew he was being childish, but he had his own ways of dealing with denial dammit.
His same ways of dealing with his shit, is the same reason why Angela demanded he goes for therapy for at least three years… and thank God is he happy those sessions are over. If he has to hear some wise ass telling him all the ways to cope with his new found blindness, then he might just start killing people around him. Maybe his aim would be better.
Thinking back onto Angela's words, Jack realised with a sudden emptiness that she was right… one day he will end up alone and will have to eventually learn to take care of himself. With a sigh he lowered himself onto his creaking couch. Closing his blind eyes, he welcomed the familiar numbing sensation signalling sleep.
… … …
A crash had Jack jerk awake, his instinct having him reach for an absent gun. His ears rung and mind spun with paranoia as he tried to scan his surroundings for the enemy, only to find everything black. His heart pounded and he tried to rapidly blink the black away when his mind suddenly supplied him with the right information. You're blind idiot.
Regaining his senses and calming his thundering heart, Jack was about to berate Angela for not caring about his health when a very masculine voice cursed. Shit. For once Jack cursed himself for falling asleep on the couch without his cell phone near him, which was all the way in his room… and impossible to get to without various curses and injured toes.
He never bothered to learn the layout in his 3 months of living here. The voice cursed again and was closer than before. Jack tried to reason with himself that no one would harm a blind man… actually that was bullshit. Who wouldn't harm a blind man? He didn't live in the safest neighbourhoods and was sure that eighty percent of the people were gangsters, maybe even his neighbours if the suspicious conversations were to be believed.
Angela once told him she overheard that people thought he was an old rich man who wanted to get away from all the fame and fortune, which wasn't too far from the truth but still. Deciding to act asleep was the best option, he slipped his eyes closed again when a voice suddenly growled in his ear. "Don't move."
The voice was gruff and mean with a light accent. But it didn't scare Jack, he faced men more dangerous than this. Holding his breath, he focused his senses on the intruder. The man was breathing heavily, slightly wheezing. A click distracted him once again as he became aware of cold metal pressed against the side of his forehead. This guy must belong to a local gang.
Mentally going through his military training, Jack was about to fight back when the man let out a sharp breath followed by the clatter of his gun. A loud thud the final evidence of the intruder as Jack was still pumped with adrenaline.
What the fuck?
