This is my first serious attempt at a short short story entitled Blindsight.

The time was upon dusk. The sky was reddening from the setting sun, as if a divine being had pricked hole with a needle and blood slowly flowed from the fresh wound, casting a shine over the fields of Elysian. Like every madman in this town, Ephriam Grey rushed up and down the streets. Everyone bore long and brown or black coats. Women with their fashionable hair, men with their fashionable hair, children with their fashionable hair. Every being in this town was extraordinarily beautiful as they danced with haste down the streets with bags and suitcases: a stunning lady unsurpassed by the next, a handsome lord all men were.

Ephriam was not much different from everyone else. In fact, Ephriam Grey wasn’t different at all. None would look upon him and think with suspicion a scandal is forthcoming. That day Ephriam Grey was dancing elegantly down the streets. So was every other being, mindlessly chaotically dancing up and down the streets. The mere beauty of it was stunning. They were like mannequins, puppets mastered by a puppet master, a puppet master skilfully controlling dead bodies after decades of practise. It was an unthinkable art; it had become painfully breathtaking: deviance was no longer deviant.

It was a tragedy. Inaudible melodies were playing, from every shoe stepping onto the ground, every bell chiming in the wind, every chirping bird: it was a beautified fairytale that did not end. And slowly the princess ages, painstakingly wrinkles is outlined on her forehead, crossing her temples towards her cheeks, creating chasms into her no longer fair skin. Ephriam Grey was headed towards the bakery. The scent of freshly baked bread, sugarcoated pastry and newly opened marmalade went unnoticed by his perfectly shaped nose. He bought the simplest bread crafted from the purest flour for only few shillings. Through the skies, a single golden ray lay upon the glistening sugar. The golden ray caressed a diamond encrusting a silvery ring on the finger of a fair lady, the diamond lighted up the small, darkened bakery with iridescent colours. Neither the clerk, the fair lady or Ephriam Grey took note of the theatrical play the rays of light acted out for everyone to see.

The townspeople did not whistle at the sky, as the birds tweet, they did not run in the meadow, grin, laugh or smile. The bright green and blue and brown eyes had been closed shut, the blond and brown and black hair was fading into an opaque mist cloaking the town. Ephriam Grey left the bakery. Still every being was dancing with quickened pace up and down the streets. He danced on home to dine in the grand dining room by the end of his mahogany dining table three yards long.

Upon return, Ephriam Grey did not notice. He prepared a modest meal accompanied by the simplest bread. Yet he did not notice her. Ephriam Grey ate in silence, barely tasted the wine created from the finest grapes. Jaina Grey sat three yards across from Ephriam Grey. His wife ate the same modest meal accompanied by the same simple bread and drank the same wine as her husband. She didn’t notice him either.

The fairytale with no end does not see the life of happily ever after. Beyond the opaque mist, the setting beauty shone magnificent and loving rays encrusting the dazzled world.

My head is completely empty. The tiredness is like a fog that has sunk down, covering my head. This is what my old teacher told me to write, when I had nothing to write. Without expectations to what I write like a explorer in a piece of classic literature. That’s what writing is to some one who cannot speak, but speaks, that’s what is it to me.