Taylor Monk

Mr. Price
Creative Writing
1/30/16
Seeing What Isnt There
He didnt remember when it had started. He couldnt remember why it
happened. All he could remember was the searing pain that transgressed from the
base of his skull to the rest of his body. His name was John, and he was blind.
However, most would tell you he could see better than anyone. He had the gift, the
gift that all treasured yet never envied. John could sense life around him, literally.
Not like the sixth sense some feel when being watched, but actual distinguishable
figures made of light. The larger the life source, the larger and brighter their aurora.
John spent meant many years using his gift for good, providing others with the light
they could not see within themselves. That all changed one day; a day just like all
the other days, yet different somehow.
John stumbles into a wall that he, for obvious reasons, didnt see. Hey, you okay?
asked Jane, his significant other.
Yeah yeah, Im fine. John replied somewhat hesitantly, as if unsure of what
happened.
I guess even the great all-seeing eye still has his moments, she teased. Suddenly
a bizarre look spreads across Johns face. Nothing is there. He blinks again, and the

recognizable brilliance of his wife returns. Perturbed, John continues forward

nonchalantly.
Uh-huh, just trying to make all you imperfect people feel a little better. He shoots
back at her with a wink and a grin. So, what do we have planned for today?
John opens the door for her, through which she exits through after giving him a peck
on the cheek. Well, you have an appointment with the make-a-wish foundation
board to discuss you possible role in that big event their planning. Surprisingly,
other than that, we get the whole day together with no interruptions. Tossing a
glance back at him, she sees his surprise.
Really? This has to be the most open day weve had in what, 7 months? John asks
her, in a sudden pleasant mood as he realizes what the open schedule entails for
the rest of his day. It wouldnt be the only surprise for him that day, albeit being the
only pleasant one.
Later in the evening, after a extensive meeting with a room full of people that
treated him like the plague, John was happy to be coming home. Even in his
condition, John was one of the best drivers on the road, so he let Jane take a nap on
the way home. All of a sudden, his vision began to flicker, as if someone was
opening and closing the blinds very quickly. Babe Babe, wake-up, he said
urgently as he began to slow down.
Wha-? Jane managed to sputter out before Johns vision blacked out completely,
and he began to spin out of control. For John, it felt like a roller coaster in a cave and
suddenly he became weightless. Jane screamed right before an impact like nothing
he had ever felt rolled through his body and his mind lapsed, much as his eyes had,

for several moments. When he came to, everything was still as dark as night for
him, even though he could feel the heat of a roaring fire repeatedly slapping him in
the face. Jane? he called out nervously, hoping for a reply but expecting none.
Unfortunately, he was correct, as he heard nothing but the pounding of his own
heart and the popping noises of cooking metal. He tentatively reached out to where
Jane had been sitting next to him, and breathed a sigh of relief as he felt her still
there. His relief turned to dread as he slowly felt over her to check for wounds and
brushed a massive tree branch protruding from her chest. It was then that the voice
cut through the jumble of emotions John was feeling.
Im sorry, theres nothing you can do. Shes gone, the voice softly said.
How do you know huh? And who are you? Can you help? John implored, clearly
desperate to save his one and only love.
Because her life source, her aura, is gone. Although I wouldnt expect you to know
as the lights have been taken from you, pressed the figure, remaining calm and
even as he spoke to the distraught former husband.
Who, who are you? What do you want from me? John asked, now terrified of this
seemingly all knowing individual.
What I want is irrelevant. The question is, what do you want from the Source? the
stranger spoke more strongly, even boastful.
The Source? John inquired, now utterly perplexed at the chain of events.
Did you really think you were the only one? It seems we have a lot to talk about
the voice assessed, and a hand reached out to Johns bloodied and dirty own.

THE END