A/N: my views on the world. maybe a little warped, but hey, who's views're you comparing it to? if my opinion was the standard, then everyone else's would be warped.
A Semi-Transparent Blindfold
After eleven years of attending school and sitting for the better part of the day listening to a teacher talk, I've developed a habit of letting my mind wander when it shouldn't. I sit in the middle of a Physics lecture, and wonder about obscure things that don't have anything to do with Newton's Law: irrelevant things, possessing less value than my idle mind gives them, like how the canter and the waltz have the same count.
I also wonder sometimes, when my mind drifts from the ruts that it's made as it runs the same course through my repetitive life, what going blind would be like. I close my eyes, and try to imagine it: to be unable to see color, or light, or the rain, or the expressions on peoples' faces. You know what color is but are unable to experience it, and watch as the memories you have of sight become more smudged with time than a pastel painting with water, eventually flowing into a single colorless black canvas before your open eyes... and you feel more trapped than fluid water as it's snatched from its river and shoved into a plastic prison to be sold in a country a million miles from home. You could ask any first-grader, and he'd tell you that the rainbow has seven colors. The ocean and sky are blue, the grass and hills are green, and in the fall the trees turn orange. But to your struggling mind, what are blue and green? They are just words, bursting ripe with an infinite amount of meaning, small words which first-graders proudly memorize but which you can't get your mind around.
During the day, you are surrounded by the stares of peers, detected by your heightened remaining four senses. You feel pairs of eyes, claiming innocence because of the fact that you can't see them, bore into you. But during the night, when you are able to escape from the probing looks, you are in your element. No longer are you the one unable to find your way in the dark. When you sleep, your dreams are not limited to the basis of reality that others have to start from. They consist not of the plights of the day and other humans, but wave and bend with colors that have no names in your sleeping mind, dancing in doodling loops and curls. And in those few rare moments, between sleeping and waking, when the boundaries between fantasy and concrete truth are lowered and sleepwalkers roam in the dark, your mind sees clearer than any eyes.
When you awake, your vision is not partially obstructed by the material world that mankind has created. You cannot judge people by their clothes or their status or the straightness of their teeth, but instead, you know them by the sole thing that differentiates them from others: their voices and their words, weaving the strands of your dormant imagination in a feeble attempt to get you to understand what color is. And you smile anyway, knowing that they are making a moot point, and they do not understand that color is something that sighted people use to give life to otherwise inanimate objects. Your mind has no use for color, because you see not in shapes but in feelings, and you cannot pin a color on something that abstract.
You do wonder, however, what it would be like to see. You close your eyes, and try to pretend. When you open you eyes, the world will be there in its entire destructive splendor, full of the same feelings that you know, but which now are associated with something visual. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to step over the line into the unknown, and—
I open my eyes. I slowly take in my drab desk in front of me, my stark white paper, the Physics teacher at the blackboard, and finally the landscape outside, blurred slightly by the plexi-glass pane through which I view it.
I close my eyes again, the welcoming darkness allowing me to see by other means than eyes.
I like it better this way.