If I sit and think hard enough, I can remember the day the sun set. Foggy, yet still warm, the weather proved resilient to the beams of the sun, trying to reach my young mind. One does not think about how lucky it is, to be able to see– for sight encourages the mind, unlike anything else.
Sight allowed me to roam, to explore, to branch out from the normal boundaries set for me as a child. On that afternoon, on that foggy day, I saw something. Mother had told me to stay inside, for she could not see me if I traveled into the dense shield of gray.
Although, it was peculiar…the fog had separated just enough that the light grasped my interest, and led me to see a curious object lying on the pavement in front of my house. Although, I can’t remember exactly what it was. Recollection is for the good, and I’ve been told I was bad.
Yes, I don’t remember much; however, I do remember disobeying my mother, and following the path of clearance separate from the fog.
I should have listened to my mother. Whatever I had been trying to get, I can guarantee it was not worth it.
For as soon as my curiosity obtained its award, I was snatched by some unfamiliar face—the face of a villain to whom I no longer see as a stranger. Much time has passed since that day, I can’t tell how much exactly. All I can do is smell, hear, feel, and wait. Sight is for the good, and I’ve been told I am bad. My shame is displayed through the cover over my eyes, I could not see for a long, long time.
What I can remember is hearing my mother’s voice on the end of a telephone. The one who held me captive wanted money my mother didn’t have. For he was angry, you see, he picked the wrong child—he told me I was bad, I was not the one he wanted. I served no purpose if I could not give him ransom.
However, even though I held no value to my snatcher, he kept me. Sight strengthens the mind, and my vision was stricken from me. I am only what I am made to be.
He told me to eat, and I always did. He told me to sleep, and so I always did. Something I learned is one does what they are told. I was told many things, and I guess I became used to doing them.
I was never a true victim, for I lived every day as normal as one can be. Truthfully, I think my snatcher was just as upset at me being there as I was. He never did anything cruel, he just told me things. For I could not see, so I did with the fear one obtains with no curiosity, I surrendered to a life of hiding.
When I escaped, it was different. Sadly, I would like to say that when my blindfold was removed the world was as it had been all that time ago. However, even now I question that truth and my reality.
Recently, my snatcher passed away, as time moved faster for him when I left. Oddly enough…no one told me to mourn, yet I did.
