| The Great Blinding was the most important part of our existence. We talked about it in hushed whispers. It permeated every aspect of what we did. Of how we lived. Yet for an event that was so important to our way of life we knew nothing about it.
Those days two years ago were dark days. Literally and figuratively. It was so strange. One moment I was walking around school with my mates, and the next I could see nothing, and all I could hear was screaming.
The problem is that when one person goes blind, they have people around them to help them, to guide them, to do the things that they can’t, and even to create the technology that makes their lives easier. However, when the whole country goes blind in a minute? It just leads to a lot of confusion and even more fear.
It took me two hours to get home from school that day. I was lucky I lived close to the school. But as if walking around without being able to see was not hazardous enough by itself we had cars that had crashed and then been abandoned, scooters that had crashed and been abandoned and bikes that were the same. It did not matter what you had been doing – at 1:08pm when The Great Blinding struck you lost your sight, and with it, life as you knew it.
It took about six months for the country to get themselves sorted again. We literally had to relearn everything, how to cook, how to shop, how to learn and how to work. Of course, being blind did not stop life from continuing on around you – people were born (blind) people died, people got sick. People who had been blind before The Great Blinding were suddenly leaders in our community and world. These people thankfully stepped up and used the skills and technology they had to help the rest of us find a way to survive in this new world.
Fast forward two years from The Great Blinding and life had definitely found a new normal. We went to school; my parents were back at work. All our computers now talked to us, our alarm clocks talked to us, our houses talked to us. Tesla had been on the verge of some breakthrough technology around self-driving vehicles which we had managed to scramble together to create public transport. Some things had definitely changed. Sports were a thing of the past, and it has been two years since I turned on the TV! Social Media, and images which dominated my life disappeared over night. I like to think I still look good – but I no longer take constant selfies and seek approval for how I look. What does matter now? Friendship, family and applying yourself to succeeding. It is strange how much has changed.
This morning started like any other. I woke up to my alarm clock chirping the time, I stumbled across to my bathroom, showered and then gingerly picked my way over to my wardrobe. I know. You would think not being able to see would have made me a neat freak? Certainly, in any books that I read prior to The Great Blinding always talked about the importance of order and knowing where things are. But the reality is I am still who I am. I was not neat and tidy before, and although I make more of an effort now – it just does not always happen! I grab a top and a pair of jeans. My wardrobe these days is pretty basic. But also it does not really matter since I nor anyone else can see if I have a cringy colour combination!
One hand trails the wall as I make my way into the kitchen. I also know exactly how many steps there are to get from my room to the kitchen – this was early mapping that I did in those first six months, however I trust my sense of touch the most, and like having contact with the wall. In the kitchen I grab some cereal and milk – a quick sniff test ensures that the milk is still good. Then I stuff my feet in some shoes and head out the door.
It is 100 steps to the corner. At the corner I turn left. 200 steps to the next point where there is a road crossing. I press the button and wait for the buzz. The crossing itself is 36 steps long. Then there is a step onto the curb, another left turn and 600 steps to the gates of the school. At the gates to the school is where it gets a lot more difficult. Up to that point I have only had to navigate curbs and driveways. Driveways are not the hazard that they once were given no one rides bikes or scooters any more, and no one can drive. So the only real hazards are trip hazards. Once you hit the gates of the school though there are people everywhere, and people do not stay still – this makes it much harder to get through. My left hand finds the fence and I walk along there for 50 steps. Then I stop and say “hello”.
It’s odd – do you know one of the things I miss? I miss that smile when friends see you approaching, or my own smile when I saw friends approaching. Now – the approach is always tentative. My hello is questioning, not confident. Am I the first one here? Are others already here? A chorus of hello’s reply – I pick up four different voices, so all my friends are here already. I sit down, and easy conversation follows. In these moments, you would not know anything has changed. In the distance a bell rings, we groan as we get to our feet, and move into the shuffling lines moving into the school building.
I am sitting in English class reading. (with my fingers) when I first notice the change. The darkness that I have become so accustomed to starts to fade. The black becomes grey, and then colours start to come back to me. I gasp and sit up. The teacher looks in my direction and asks if I am ok.
I don’t respond. I am too busy frantically looking around. I want to laugh at some of the clothes my classmates are wearing. I want to shake my head in horror at the hairstyles and the lack of make up on my friends faces. But mostly what clasps my heart is fear. On every surface around me the words “Don’t tell them you can see” are scrawled, painted, etched. Hundreds and hundreds of times on every available surface.
I call out “Miss I need to go to the toilet” I lurch to my feet and stumble towards the door. I don’t even need to pretend; my legs are so shaky I am surprised I am upright. Outside the door I stop and lean against the wall. All available space in the hallway is the same as in the classroom, with big and small versions of “Don’t tell them you can see” everywhere. I take some deep breaths. I need to get my feelings under control. I need to work out what on earth is going on. I need to work out what to do next.
Ten minutes later I stumble back into class. Never have I been so grateful for my desk at the back of the classroom. I glance around. As surreptitiously as I can, paying particular attention to those in the class who look more put together than the rest of us. Those whose clothes don’t clash, who’s face, and hair look a little more put together. I also look for anyone else who is looking around. I put my head down and lift my fingers to the book to keep reading. But I have zero idea what it is that I am reading. I stare at the desk, another surface covered with “Don’t tell them you can see”. A thought hits me. Who is the them?
The period drags. English always drags, but today is particularly bad. My mind is racing a million miles an hour, and it still feels like something is squeezing my heart in fear. The bell rings and we shuffle out. Temporarily I am blinded again. I had forgotten just how bright the sunshine can be. I had forgotten the vibrance of the colours. However looking around much had changed. Grass and gardens were over grown. I guess there was no one to take any interest in how things looked. Even out here, every available surface was covered in those same words. I made some rushed excuses to my friends and shuffled towards home. I tried to walk with the same caution that I had used walking to school but it was hard. The desire to run was extreme. But I did not know who was watching. I did not know what this all meant.
At home I shut myself in my room and turn my music on loud. I needed it to drown out the thoughts in my head. The evening passed. Much like any other evening, except my thoughts were so loud now they were screaming. I did not know how everyone around me could not hear them.
The next day I have no clearer idea about what is happening. As well as trying to comprehend who the them is and what on earth is going on it is also strange to simultaneously re adjust to having sight and pretend like you still have no sight.
The bell rings and I join the throngs of people shuffling towards class. Someone brushes into me, not an unusual phenomenon in a school for the blind, except that they hold my hand for a moment longer than is normal. I glance down and see a piece of paper in there. Paper is a substance we have not used in two years. There is no point, even if you could write, no one could read it. I tighten my fist around the paper and duck into the toilets as I shuffle past.
Locking myself in a stall I sat down and slowly opened my fist. A ragged corner of paper sat there. Written in blue pen were two things. “B Block Toilets. 11.30am”. That was it. No name, no day, nothing. I guess though the fact that I was able to read it guaranteed that it was for me. I pressed the button on my watch. The monotonous voice recited “8:28am” Three hours until I could slip away to hopefully find out more about my predicament.
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the library on two seperate occassions. On the first occasion I read 20-50 pages and then returned it. Which is very unlike me, so I suspect that was largely a time thing with too much else going on. When I pulled it ouit of my Christmas book bag I was excited to read it, and then when I read the blurb thought I already had! It was then I realised I had read some but not all.
So, because I have slowed down I have decided to move back to individually writing about the rest of the psy changeling series. 
Mrs K Reads 