A/N: (rewritten as of 6/1/13) Bear with me, I think that this is a really promising idea.
I'm missing something. Of course, everyone's always missing something; socks, love, the point- but I'm missing something… more.
My sight.
You know colors, right? Probably grew up around them, memorized the rainbow in kindergarten, use them all the time. You've seen that the sky is blue, that cotton candy is pink. Me? Those are lost memories, something that I'll never have hope of seeing again. Red, yellow, green, magenta- all of those were replaced by black. Black is nothingness. Black is dark. Black is… usual.
When I was six, I fell out of a tree and straight on my head. I went into shock, and my eyes were shut tight for almost 6 weeks. Doctors said they would open soon, and they did. But when I opened them, I was greeted by black.
My mom always said that I was special because I'm blind. Sure, I know that other people in the world are blind. I've even met some. All those people, they cope with their blindness. They live with it. But I'll never get over it, never live like other blind people. They're not the same. They're not me. But I don't even know who me is.
Being blind, I don't know many people. It's mostly just Mom, Dad, my sister Jazz, and me. I don't know what they look like, but I do know that Mom's laugh sounds like chirping birds, and that Dad always smells like fudge in the afternoon. Jazz almost always has books surrounding her, and I have to be careful where I walk. The house we live in is small and cozy. Everything's always in its place, so I never trip and know exactly what's in every room.
So, being blind might sound like it isn't that bad. To you, random reader with eyes, life's not bad with four senses. Until, of course, it is. Until I remember now I'll never see my parents. Never see my favorite songs played live. Never even see myself.
Fourteen years old, and I'll never even see the glassy blue eyes Mom claims I have, or the messy hair Dad swears is jet black like his. If I try really hard, I all I can see a little five year old, with freckles and tiny hands.
Every day, probably more than once, I've wondered- What would it be like, to see again? To actually use my two eyes for something? To wake up, open my eyes, and see something besides plain old black?
Those thoughts ran repeatedly through my head one night. Why? Because for the first time in my life, I saw.