literature

Dreaming Blind

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author owns exclusive rights to this story.

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Unseeing eyes stared at the painting on the wall. Staring back at her was a see of blue, shining from the sun's golden light and reflecting the clouds she had painted above it. A young girl sat on a cloud just to the left of center, staring with wide eyes at the world surrounding her cumulonimbus throne. Her face was turned firmly away from the rolling, dark clouds moving in from the left, promising danger to her.

It was the latest in a series of murals that had appeared throughout the building, and despite the fact that her hands had authored each brushstroke, Dinah had never seen the wonders she created. When asked she said she simply painted what she felt, and anyone watching her would have assumed she was referring to the way her hands moved along the walls she worked. Her fingers would search out each nook and cranny, each tiny hole, filling them all with paint and magic. While she worked, the children would gather in droves around her, but she never spoke to them. As she created, the art consumed her, leaving all who watched wondering what passion could have driven her to create such beauty. Her only breaks when painting the murals were for her meals, and it wasn't until Samuel brought her lunch on that particular day that anyone noticed Dinah's eyes.

If the fork hadn't clattered so loudly when it hit the floor, the conversation might not have stopped. The flow of noise often covered little mistakes she made, a step in the wrong direction or a tap of her foot on the paint can as she tried to keep up with its location as she painted the base. But there was no noise when the fork fell, its tines bouncing and carrying it up in the air a few times before it finally clattered to a resting position. The only sound in the room afterwards was Dinah's heavy sigh.

She'd never dropped anything in front of the children, and it wouldn't have been noteworthy even then, except for where the fork had finally stopped. The slightly dulled metal lay at the feet of one of the older children who hadn't the courtesy to return it to her. He stared at it, then at her, for several moments. If she had been able to see him, she would have noted the narrowing of his eyes. Instead, Dinah found herself listening to the hardness of a heart as it entered the voice of a ten-year-old boy.

“You're a fake.”

She hadn't been prepared for such a statement, and had never even considered that anyone who had watched her paint would have considered her works weren't her own. Gasps sounded through the room as some waited for Dinah to reply. “You've watched me paint, boy.”

His voice was filled with anger, and she could hear the hint of bitter tears. “I don't care what I think I've seen. People do magic tricks in front of audiences all the time. That's all this is – all you are! Some kind of fake magician!”

If she had been able to see him, she would have noted the lighter flesh around his knuckles as he clenched his fists. She would have seen the slight wobble in his bottom lip as he fought not to cry the way all children do when one of their idols falls. Instead she heard the sound of chairs moving against the floor as the children pushed them back and stood. She heard feet as they walked away. But her accuser still stood, waiting for an explanation.

“I do weave a bit of magic for you. Every day, when you come and watch me paint, you forget for a few moments. You forget that you're in a hospital, that there's no cure. You forget that you're dying.” She could smell the tears rolling down his cheeks, the salty aroma wafting to her as he huffed angrily. “But my painting is real enough.”

“How can it be?!” His voice echoed in the small room. “How can it be real when you're blind?” He choked on the last word, the barely audible sound not carrying very far.

Dinah stood and walked slowly toward the sound of his voice, stopping short when she head him take steps backward. She sighed softly before speaking. “What's your name?”

There were several moments of silence before he answered. “Darrell.”

She nodded, and felt her muscles move to form what she had been told was a smile. “I'm Dinah, as you know.” Slowly she bent down, her hand reaching for the place she'd heard the fork come to rest. “Darrell, do you realize that every day, for the few moments you're in the room with me, you're allowed to live your dream?” Her fingertips grazed the edge of the fork's handle as she spoke, and she rested them there, waiting for his answer.

“What dream?”

Dinah felt her facial muscles stretch further, still turned toward him as she picked the fork up. “The dream to not have cancer. To not be one of the truly 'walking dead'.” She inched away from him before rising to her feet. “And every day I paint for you, it's one of my dreams.” She took a deep breath, resolving herself to opening up to the boy. “I don't have to have eyes to show someone what my dreams are, Darrell.”

His voice sounded soft and unsure to her ears when he spoke. “Dreams?”

“Yes. Have you ever looked at what I'm showing you?” She turned from him then, walking back to the mural. “Despite the darkness closing in on us, there is a brighter side in life. Our dreams will come, Darrell.” Dinah turned back to him, the look on her face mimicking that of the painted girl on her towering throne. “We just have to believe.” She knelt down, picking up her brush. “And I don't have to see to do that.”

Copyright 11 by Th3EmOo

Written as part of OurDreamsWillCome's Awareness of the Arts: Visualize our Dreams contest. My partner is mum666. :)

Per wordcounter.net, story is exactly 997 words.

Constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated. :)

Copyright 11 by Th3EmOo
© 2015 - 2024 RogueMudblood
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Bookworm-Ninja's avatar
what i love most about your stories is that ,when i'm reading them, i can see a single element with blurry surroundings, then slowly everything starts to become clearer until we have a great ending
to me here, i imagine seeing the backs of dinah and darell facing the wall, looking at the great mural, and maybe darell reaching for dinah's hand :')
again, great work :')