Thursday, September 30, 2010
A shadowy outline of a familiar shape is slowly drawn in front of him as his eyes slowly begin to open. The stench of watery diarrhea fills the room as his body attempts to rid itself of the poison, a puddle forming under the barely living boy. He began to convulse like the seats of an archaic airplane in a spiraling descent. Death penetrated the room, "my son’s body shutdown, right in front of my eyes, I felt completely helpless. All I could do was watch as his last breathe escaped his little lips, and it was over. I knew I would be next."
He affirmed as he looked up from the floor, his long white cane resting next to his legs. There was not a single unscarred tissue on his body as he looked at me and said, "My blindness is a punishment, my scars are a reminder. I can still see his face, and I will forever feel his pain."