Disclaimer:  Ok, Smallveill (or the cast of it) does not belong to me.  If I happen to bring in new characters that you don't know about, guess what?  They belong to me…so F*CK OFF!!!!

Author's Note:  Now, if ya' knows ma', I always haft ta' have one o' 'dees…um, first tv and Smallveill fic (I know I'm spelling it wrong, but guess wot, 'dis girl don't care!) please, tell mamma wot ya' liked and wot ya' didn't, ya' hate, please fo' gods sake (not really his as fer me) tell mamma why, but udder 'dan 'dat, if ya' like it…please feel free to tell ma' 'dat too.  Oh, an' I don't really talk like 'dis, I just like to write like it…

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My eyes opened themselves lethargically bringing into focus the dim silhouette of the darkened ceiling, much in contrast to the bare tan walls of the frigid room decorated with strips of sun flying through the small slits in the blinds only to land on the wall, giving me a feeling much like that if I were in a prison.

The covers and blankets covered my body, rusting like a thin whistle in the wind as I moved slightly to look over on the empty side of my bed, my eyes running down the wall facing me as I did so, enabling me to see my reflection in the long mirror stapled to the wall.

My face was a bit distorted, my cheek bones slightly sunken in through my lack of eating in the past days; my lips were pressed together in a somewhat ugly frown; a frown of anger, pity, and depression…I could never figure out why I had that same look everyday when I rolled over, but today was no different from the rest, and with that, I dismissed the subject and lay down again on my back, seeing my frail chest heave up and down as I sucked in air through a small split in my lips.

My body ached with pain and yearned for stretching, but I lay there, dealing with the temporarily pain in my muscles as my eyes concentrated on a familiar section of the ceiling, but my mind saw elsewhere…the pale ghostly white of my father's face as he lain in the hospital bed.  Beads of sweat licked through his eyebrows and trickled down the bridge of his nose whose nostrils flared while his tainted purple lips smacked together for air.

His eyes stared off into an invisible location while they blinked rapidly, his eyelashes brushing together.  Glaze had clouded his eyes and I could just faintly see his lightened black pupil beneath the powder wall.  His sweat-drenched hand gripped heavily at mine, the tips of his fingers punching through the back of my palm.  I hadn't even realized the pain he had caused me till later.

I stood staring into his face, watching his lips move.  "The doctors told me you requested the surgery to be done immediately," his voice had been raspy and dry, begging for liquid. 

I clasped harder on his hand, bending down to hear his soft voice, hanging on the words, having the sudden impulse to move my other hand and cradle his head in it, yet I kept my hand limp and lifeless by my side.  "I know; I thought it best to do the surgery right then-."

He had cut me off, "I know…I know…" he took a moment to catch his breath, his lips pressing together, his adams apple moving up and down as he swallowed his own dry white spit.  "Then we'd have both been wrong," my head flew back; my body straightened slightly, my grip loosened, "My life will never be the same now my son-"

"What?" Panic and uncertainty sounded thickly on my tongue.

"I'm blind," My grip slipped from his hand and I stood up, standing erect finally, my eyes searching his, seeing the milky substance blocking his eyes; suddenly it all made sense.

I backed away from the table, watching him, as he continued to stare straight ahead, his eyes blinking rapidly still, the beads of sweat collected above his top lip mixing in with his mustache giving it a shinny textile look.  His face glistened in his sweat; his hair was plastered to his forehead and spread out against the pillow his head rested on.

"It would…have been better…had you let me…die," he struggled through the words, gasping for air in his lungs as he coughed slightly.  I backed away into the door, watching him, my eyes saying more than I ever could.  At that moment I don't even know what was going through my mind…

I can still remember the feel of the cool metal of the doorframe beneath my palm as it sweat and grew moist.  I was overcome with a rush of heat, burning my hands, turning them a dark red as all the blood ran to the tips of my fingers.  My heart sped up; my stomach churned; a dry lump formed in the back of my throat.  Words were on the tip of my mouth yet sat there as a soundless thought.  All I could do was stand there, my eyes running over the crippled body of my father while he repeated my name again and again, his small hand reaching out for mine.

I blinked my eyes for the first time, bringing myself back to reality in a quick flash.  I found myself staring at the same spot in the ceiling, now a bit lightened as more sun shown in through the window.

A streak of wetness and moisture ran down my cheek, tickling the hairs on my face.  I moved my hand self-consciously to my cheek and wiped, then stopped, staring at the palm of my hand, noting that the water had been a tear…a tear for my father.