Cruel World

My name is Flinn Bront. Some call me the ‘Blind Mystery’. Others, ‘The Town’s Luck’. They think they know me. They think they have power over me, think I’m a helpless, poor soul. True, I’m not your average 20 year old man. The cloth tied firmly around my head forevermore forbids me from being normal. It means my days are cast in an eternity of endless blackness. It means I’m an easy target for crimes and bullying. But so long as I have my cloth, I don’t care. People may think me weird, treating a scrap of brown and yellow, stained fabric like a friend, let alone one that hinders me, but I know they mean well. From my vague, misty memories of the time when I had my vision, and was without my cloth, I remember the world being a lovely place. I still carry that belief now. After the massacre in my town, it was - and still is - the only thing I had to hold on to. That moment when I saw it, lying on the floor of the rusty antique clothing shop, I knew it was meant to be. From then on it would be just me and the cloth, the cloth and me. That’s when I heard it. “Get him.” The voice was close in my ear, reeking of alcohol and unwashed teeth. For the first time on my life, I cursed my cloth. If I had seen them they wouldn’t have snuck up on me by surprise. Now it was too late. But as I heard the swish of steel racing towards me, I took a deep breath and ripped off my cloth. The world had changed. No longer was it calm, peaceful. Now, it was a cruel, dark world. One you would have to adapt to. I ducked just as it came slicing towards my head, then ran. I was stupid for thinking I could survive without sight. I would never be so naive again. I would steal to survive, and kill for the pleasure of it. This world was dark and so I must be too. And with that, I ran, far, far away from my old, weak life.

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