Writing Prompt

I see more when I look, I see less when I don’t. It’s even worse when I sneeze, I can’t recall what took forth. The days pass by as the river in the stream, flows softly and slowly past by the drawing sun to the trees. I missed out on the moments, I will never get back. I now watch with open eyes, until my very last dance.

The young man carefully negotiated the aisle and stepped off the bus. He regarded the graffiti on the concrete buildings lining the street, neon colors and soft, bubble letters, ghetto murals he admired every evening as he walked home. He adjusted the glasses that framed his hazel eyes, making sure they sat securely over the mask covering his nose and mouth. The sky was aglow, broad pink and orange brush strokes coloring the last, best rays the sun could offer. Clint stood motionless and took in the scene, committing it all to memory. He wasn’t alone. Many people repeated this evening ritual, all eyes drinking in the view, everyone that still could, anyway.

Clint trudged uphill as the light dimmed, rushing now to beat the sunset. Even with his glasses, his night vision was poor and he risked losing his way, despite having walked these streets for years. Clint valued his sight, knew it was a finite gift, was resolved to it’s loss. He had read about a time when human eyes were heartier, lasting most of one’s life. Yes, sight had declined with age, but it was still there at the end. His great-grandfather had enjoyed a lifetime of sight, but that was before the SDV epidemic, short for Sternumentum Damnum Visum (the medical community couldn’t resist mucking things up with a little Latin).

Researchers had noted a startling rise in the incidence of blindness. As more and more of the population succumbed to darkness, scientists had studied the data, interviewing patients and their doctors with growing desperation. When the cause was discovered, it was initially dismissed as preposterous. News reports were delivered with jokes, scientists were ridiculed for their efforts. The culprit responsible for stealing human sight was… a sneeze?? Well, not just one. It was different for each victim. For some, each sneeze was catastrophic, with total loss of sight after just a handful of sneezes. For others, it took a bad upper respiratory virus or seasonal allergy attack.

All agreed that the best course of action was to protect one’s airway. Air filtration systems became essential for every household. Masks were worn inside and out. Certain professions had absorbed disproportionate losses; farmers, cleaners, landscapers, barbers & hair stylists. Working fields or caring for livestock were sure ways to quick blindness. Modern food was concocted in laboratories or farmed by robots in warehouses equipped with ventilation hoods. Over the years, human cleaners had been replaced with automation. Gone were the days when homes were filled with tchotchkes. The accumulation of things just created more surface area on which dust could collect.

Sight was now an EXPERIENCE, something to be grabbed by the fistful. Across the globe, communities had developed disparate strategies to expose little eyes to a lifetime of sights. One fed their infants a steady stream of media, another favored exposure to natural beauty. Clint had dutifully visited every art gallery in his community. He had studied faces. He had travelled and filled his mind with pictures that he would recall in his sightless future.

Despite global efforts, many things were lost to the epidemic. Clint had never driven a car. Automated trains and buses got people where they needed to go. Because the majority of the population lost their sight before they reached adulthood, there was no longer an audience for social media posts, no incentive for “keeping up with The Joneses,” no need for makeup, manicures, hair extensions. Most people kept theirs heads shaved.

At last, Clint reached his apartment building. His hands shook as he pulled his key card from his pocket and waved it over the panel. The interior was brightly lit and Clint strode the length of the hallway without incident. He paused at his door and listened intently. He heard no voices and could not discern any bodies in the hallway with him. Convinced of his solitude, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door. He quickly closed it behind him and braced himself for what was about to come. He registered a brief flash of white before a soft, but solid ball of fur crashed into him. He embraced his cat, remove his mask, buried his face in its fur and…. ACHOO!! The world faded to black.

Oh, lover

please forgive me.

For

when I look at you,

I can no longer look at you the same.

Your eyes were once so adoring

but they are something

I am no longer faithfully exploring.

I cannot gaze at you

as I have before

but know

you are something I still adore.

I, still

can envision

all the hues in your eyes;

a holy temple to my soul.

Oh,

so lover

forgive me.

These eyes of mine cry

and these eyes of mine try

to see your perfection clearly

but wearily

it fails.

Oh,

so lover

forgive me

forgive my eyes.

Sight holds beauty Youth let’s eyes see And yet, one will lose sight

With every sneeze A fraction of beauty is gone The picture of the world slowly fades

Allergies are the worse Images and colors no longer standout The world is a blur for one with decreasing sight

Slight may not return Age diminishes the eyes But beauty can be found with the other senses

My sight gets worse each time I sneeze Father God will you help me please

I used to see all the outlines Of flowers and a squirrel that climbs The doctor said that there’s no cure I’ll do some research that’s for sure

Medical journals never end A science teacher is my friend Oh I don’t want to lose my sight I’ll take meds but money is tight

Allergies must not come to play I’ll stay inside weeds stay away I can still see, but not so clear I’ll pray, listen and never fear

Father God will you help me please My sight gets worse each time I sneeze

Everything was so clear Bright blues and dark greens Flowers and clouds and trees I could see everything And then I sneezed

Lines weren't as sharp Colors beginning to fade Things were still discernible But it wasn't quite so clear And then I sneezed

The fading got worse Everything was gray Shapes were still there Yet it wasn't what I knew And then I sneezed

Black just black No colors no shapes Isolating darkness My other senses worked But I could no longer see

Whisps of white smoke twisted and circled up into the air from the cauldron. The black liquid bubbled, and Asa leant over her concoction, the smell of liquorice and sage stinging the back of her throat.

Coughing the smoke from her face, Asa fumbled behind for her stool and took a seat, the tips of her toes skimming the stone floor. A scattering of manuscripts littered the dark wooden table, each page covered in a mix of pencil-drawn stretches and hand-written annotations, illustrating an apothecaries larder of different plants, herbs and foodstuff.

Pulling the nub of the candle closer, Asa squinted her eyes, trying to focus her on her pallet of watercolours. Twenty different shades lined the tin, and as Asa dipped the tip of her paintbrush into the jar of murky water, she took a breath—a guess—and then went for it, lathering her brush in the paint. Just as the pale pigment touched the paper, a knock rapped the door, once, twice, slowly, then twice more, faster—the signal. Asa clicked her fingers, and the front door clicked open. Shoes brushed against the matt, then the elegant jingle of the inside doors bell.

A wild mane of dark curls orbited Cara’s pale face, and the long silver coat she wore fell past her knees, framing the thick soles of her black boots. “Will you come out with me today?” she said quickly. “Hello to you too.” “Yes, sorry, hi. But will you? We could go to that new tavern; I heard they do fabulous Munchie Magic Sticks.” Dropping her paintbrush into the jar with a splash, Asa turned back to her bubbling cauldron. She stirred it three times, clockwise. “You know I can’t. I have so much work; what with Professor Filby asking for my assistance with these manuscripts,” she said, nodding to the table, “and old Mrs Watkins down the road knocking on my door every hour for her hip remedies. I... I can’t.”

“Right, of course. Well, can we at least open a window? No offence,” Cara said gingerly, and she perched on the edge of the table for a second before standing again. “but it smells like a troll's armpit in here.” Asa rolled her eyes. “Full offence was taken and no.” Ignoring her anyway, Cara moved to the small window by the door. “Just a little crack?” she asked. Her hand reached for the iron latch, for the lock keeping it all out. “You won't even notice, but it will do the world of good.”

Breath caught in Asa’s throat, snatched away by the always lurking thief of fear. She stumbled from her stool towards Cara, her leg narrowly missing the corner of her workbench. “I said no!” Asa shouted, and Cara flinched. “Alright!” She said, shooting her hands up in a sign of surrender. “Sorry.”

Warmth flared to Asa’s cheeks. She bit her lip, hating the guilt, the shame that surged, clawing in her chest. “No, I—” Asa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had to say it—as much as she hated to. Cara was her best friend; she couldn't hide it any longer. “I can’t see colours,” she mumbled. “What?” “I said I can't see colours! They’ve gone. Dulled, faded to shades of tiresome grey! Everything’s pointless, useless.”

Asa glanced around her tiny home, at the dingy walls—once a bright sunflower yellow—to the flickering white candle on her table and the depressing greyscale pigments of her watercolours. She looked to the potion summering in her cauldron, a brew which she knew should be a brilliant, florescent purple—Mrs Watkins favourite colour—but appeared to be nothing, just darkness at the bottom of an endless well. She knew the jars of herbs and crystals on her shelves should glow with life, a wash of vibrant greens and youthful pinks, but all they did was get lost, misplaced in the shadows, hidden in amongst the grey.

Asa wiped her chin, expelling an escaped tear. “It’s as though everything is dead.” “I don’t...how?” Cara stuttered, “Why?” “I tried something, a potion, and it failed. When I sneeze, my eyesight worsens,” Heat burst like an exploding ember in her chest and her vision blurred. She punched the table, emphasising each word with a blow. “I’m. A. Failure. A stupid. Colourless failure.” “Hey, hey, hey, stop! Can’t you make an antidote? You must have something.” “Oh, thank you, genius!” Asa jibed. “Why didn't I think of that?”

Bubbles spat from the cauldron, bursts of black spurting up, spilling over the side. The smell of burnt toast filled the room, and Asa scurried over. She clasped the spoon, turning the potion anti-clockwise until the liquid settling, calming, like the heat in her chest.

“No,” she continued, quietly, softly, “I need flowers to make the cure, but the flowers I need are Marigolds and—” “—and you're allergic to them.” Asa nodded. “Like almost every other flower. And if I sneeze...” Asa shook her head, trying, failing, to dispel the horrifying thoughts. “I can't lose my sight, Cara. If I lose it, I can’t make my treatments, and if I can’t make my treatments, then...then what is the point of me.” “Don’t you dare say that!” “Why? It’s true.” Cara grabbed Asa’s shoulders, shaking them lightly. “It’s not! And anyway,” she said, a smile touching her lips, “your knowledge of herbology and witchy-magic-stuff could fill a library—I mean, it probably does—you could simply order someone to create your treatments, hell, I’d even do it.” “You would?” “I would. You’re brilliant. Everybody knows it. Now,” Cara clapped her hands together, taking a seat on the edge of the table. “Tell me what you need; I’ll get it. Tell me what to do; I’ll do it. Although you would be perfect with or without your sight, I want to help make your cure, even if that means missing out on Munchie Magic Sticks. Come on, girl, tell me what to do!”

Sneeze! Windows Rattle. Where did that elephant go? Atchoo! All gone dark.

Allergy season was a real drag because 1) red puffy eyes were NOT a cute look and 2) it brought me closer to the dark never-ending abyss of darkness. Or really, it brought me closer to blindness.

As someone who was perpetually prone to horrible seasonal allergies and hay fever, it seemed a lot safer to just stay indoors than to leave my nest and risk blindness. You see, as a rather unfortunate distribution of justice, I had been cursed as a child for my parent’s wrongdoings. They never really got into the details of what they had done to piss off the old man who lived in the basement suite of our old apartment building, but apparently it had been bad enough to make him retaliate. Who could’ve known that the old man downstairs was in fact, not an old croon in a permanent bad mood, but a retired wizard well versed in dark magic?

Because my parents were absolute idiot’s incapable of simply apologizing for their mistakes, I had been the one to shoulder the punishment. Now, for as long as I lived, I would be cursed to lose a fraction of my eyesight every time I sneezed. Out of all the possible curses out there, the one he had chosen had been both an absolute nuisance and a slow and painful descent towards blindness. To make matters worse, he skipped town and has been off the grid for the past 19 years, so my parents couldn’t even go back and demand a refund or an exchange for a different curse.

“Mabel sweetheart don’t do this. It’s going to be fine. We have a meeting with a witch who will be coming all the way from Sweden next week. She’s sure she can help you with your issue”, my mother pleaded, her small bony hands grabbing onto my arm harder than necessary. I shook her hand away and stepped back, slipping my jacket on, and zipping it up.

“Mom we’ve gone to hundreds of witches, herbalists, mages, and healers who have claimed the same thing. No one can help me”, I said, a little harsher than necessary. I pushed my thick framed glasses higher up on my nose and squared my shoulders.

“I’m going to at least try to speak to him”, I added.

My mother, a petite woman with blond ringlets and clothes that always seemed to be smeared in paint, looked up at me. I was tall and willowy, more my father than anything else with hair so dark that I looked like a stretched-out shadow beside my mother. My mother’s eyes filled with tears, but I knew better than to give in, she could be unintentionally manipulative sometimes.

“I’m just worried about you honey. At least let me come with yo-”

“No”, I said interrupting her “I want to do this alone”. What I really wanted to say though was, ‘no, I’m not taking you with me because the last time you spoke to the old wizard, he cursed me with impending blindness. There’s no way I’m letting you tag along’.

Mother sighed and held up the little pouch in her hands. It was a clear bag filled with pill bottles and other things.

“Fine. Here, take this with you at least. I’ve packed you some allergy medication, nasal spray, eye drops…”

But I drowned out the rest of her words and snatched the bag from her. I’d heard the same speech a thousand times before and I already knew every label on every product in the bag. I never left the house without it anyway. In fact, I never left the house, period. My parents were paranoid about my curse and with my horrible allergies, I had been forced to stay at home for my entire life. All I did was homeschooling , reading, and sleeping. It was a pitiful life really.

“Thanks mom”

A shiver of excitement ran through me at the thought of finally being allowed outside. The old wizard had finally remerged two days ago in town to attend some magical market convention. When I had heard of his return, I immediately tracked him down and gathered as much research on him as I could. My mother, of course, told me not to look into it and forget meeting him altogether. She was still terribly afraid of what else he could do. But I was desperate for an end to this curse. I wanted nothing more than to finally leave this house in two months and attend college. Life indoors with just my mom and dad for company has grown stifling.

“Bye mom”, I said pulling the door open and taking a step out. She immediately grabbed me for a last-minute hug and mumbled.

“If your allergies get worse or your eyesight changes, please, please call me Mabel”

I nodded my head in agreement and patted her head lovingly before prying myself out of her grasp. I waved a final goodbye and stepped outside, closing the door behind me.

Disclaimer: I chose to edit the prompt from "sneezing" to "waking up" and the character loses eye sight throughout the day but it is completely fine the next morning…

Here we are, the morning again. The mornings are always the best, I can see her.

I can see her luxurious hair, flowing in plaits behind her ears. Her warm eyes, which wrap my heart in knots every time they open. Her freckles fading ever so slowly, still ever present. That is a bond we share, both freckled teens, it only makes losing it harder.

I am madly in love with this girl, that is all I am certain about. Her very presence can make my day, so always I tell her how perfect she is. She always giggles and lightly punches me on the arm, I act as if it is nothing but it makes me desire for more.

The mornings are amazing, it is when I can see her.

The afternoons I can feel her slipping away slowly but surely. They always make me realise how faultless she is, I always make sure to see her as much as I can,

As it is morning, I race out of bed and rush to get ready, every second I waste is a lost second of heaven in her company. By the time I’m finished, it is 8am. "I took too long" I tell myself solemnly, but it doesn’t matter. 10 hours until my vision goes dark, 10 hours to feel love.

Even when apart, I have a constant desire for her, this is how I feel now, rushing towards her house to walk her to school. Every second is heaven, every second my heart catches more feelings.

Her luxurious hair, flowing in plaits behind her ears. Her warm eyes, which wrap my heart in knots every time they open. Her name is Calypso, and she cannot be mine.

• Cal :)