Blind Phoenix

Visions of nothing surrounded him. A world not seen, but felt. A powerful and unwavering cold was present. Tonight nature was having a war with itself, thrashing the trees about and picking up leaves only to set them down once again. A young man at the age of 19 was lying in his bed, shivering. Nearly his entire head was covered in bandages, with only an opening at the top for his hair to exit freely. He was blind but could still sense his surroundings. Everything is just a colorless outline to him. His hair was silver, spiky, and rose up almost like tall grass. The sides of his head were mostly absent of hair and wrapped in cloth like the rest of his face. He had a very thin body that seemed as if it would shatter from even the slightest pressure, his height at a modest 5’9”. He was European and he lived near the hidden city of Barrik somewhere in Western Europe. No longer able to tolerate the bone-deep cold, the young man attempted to speak, muttering, “Grandma.” His words barely reached the end of his room and he gave a brief chuckle as if he expected as much. He wanted to move but couldn’t; his body would not listen. Summoning all his strength, he got up from his bed and exited his bedroom into the hallway while nearly tripping over his own feet. Wind could be heard still ravaging the trees outside. While taking a few extra blankets from a nearby closet he noticed a figure standing beside him. He was feeling the presence of his grandmother. She was a short, skinny old lady with squinted eyes. She spoke softly, saying “Byur, you’re cold aren’t you? I was just about to bring you some more blankets, but it seems you beat me to it.” He nodded, gave her a hug and returned to his bedroom. Byur closed the door and stood still after throwing the blankets onto his bed. He had felt an aura of concern coming from his grandmother; he knew that his plight worried her greatly. For years she had taken care of him and had done whatever he asked, telling him every day that he would soon recover. When he was merely eight years old a strange man with long, obsidian-black hair had burned Byur’s entire face and had damaged a large portion of his lungs. He found it difficult to speak or move, the burn of the flame seemed to linger… preventing the damage from ever fully healing and perhaps eating away at his very soul. Byur spent his days listening to music and audio books.  Exercise was out of the question, a body like that could not do any more than walking. Time seemed to stand still, a day for others felt like a week for him. The absolute monotony of simply existing without having the ability to do much of anything beyond surviving had been affecting him since the incident.  “Is there a meaning to my life at this point?” is what he had been telling himself. A man without a purpose or a dream will always suffer such questions.  It was getting late. He set his head onto his pillow and slept, dreaming of nothing more than what his eyes called for.   Morning had come, breakfast was already set up on the table—bread, cheese and tea. Byur approached the table, removed his bandages and began to eat. When he spoke he took a pause very often. His lungs often gasped for air every few words.             “Good…morning. I can…feel that…you’re happy.”             “I am, dear. A close friend of your cousin is coming to live with us.” She said cheerfully. “She is said to be a very kind girl, but her family just doesn’t have the money to take care of her. Her name is Maria. She will stay here for about three years; I hope you will get along with her.” He looked surprised, “Ok...I’ll try not…to be a bother…to her.” Byur could barely speak; she noticed his trouble and implored him to save his energy. “You know” she said “she told me that she could not wait to see you. Maria plans on becoming a caretaker and she thinks you would be a good person to help her prepare for that.” The young man looked at his grandmother and gave a big smile “At least…I will…have something to…do. I can’t wait.”             Last night’s wind had died down, light shined through the windows of the apartment. The two lived on the second floor which had a nice view of the nearby city. He was leaning on the railing of the balcony, thinking, “A caretaker, huh. I will do whatever I can to help her. I’ve got nothing better to do.” He felt a rush of energy, “I feel like something is…wrong. No, wrong would be the incorrect word to describe it. I feel a change coming.” Caressing the scars and scabs he had on his face, he went back inside to apply new bandages. It was a painful process; even the slightest exposure to air caused his face to invoke stomach-wrenching pain. Byur dreaded this routine task.  The day passed by yet again at the pace of a slug and soon after night came, the doorbell rang. Byur’s heart jumped, the sound was unfamiliar to him. He had not heard the doorbell for a long, long time. It was louder than he recalled. Approaching the door he reached for his bandages to remove them in order to see who the visitor was, but he quickly remembered that it was futile. The excitement had caused him to forget the situation he was in. When the door opened, a fit and well dressed girl stood in front of him. The color of her skirt and jacket was dark blue and her undershirt was white. Her eyes were purple; her hair was golden and wavy. It was Maria. She was a bit shorter than Byur but was moderately heavier. The young man felt that she was startled from his bound visage and thin frame. He foolishly took a bow out of awkwardness. Interacting with strangers was not his greatest strength; this is not to say he dislikes social interactions, far from it. Byur was merely unused to them. Maria closed her mouth which was open due to Byur’s alarming appearance; she smiled, and behind that smile was generosity and good intent. If only he could see it.