I couldn’t deal with being blinded. I didn’t think anyone could properly form themselves back together when their sight was suddenly taken.
I tried to grasp my bearings, I really did, but there was only so much my brain could process. A slow brain that handled any stressful situation with anxiety and panic attacks.
I knew I was surrounded. Four, maybe five, I caught before one had chunked a clump of ash into my unprotected eyes, on the one day I hadn’t worn glasses.
A shove came from behind. And I managed to catch myself, cracked my hands and knees against the gravel.
I forced myself to stand just so I wouldn’t be in a worst situation.
I turned wildly in my personal darkness. A rush of vertigo slapped me across the face as another shove, two calloused, familiar, hands against my chest.
One struck low, against the ribs, while the other practically pushed my chest bones through my shoulder.
I hit the ground. My back scratched against the rubble as I, again, attempted to process.
But, I froze.
The helplessness–
The desire to act–
The attempt to understand–
The furrow of my brow–
The scared shiver of a tiny child–
The expectation that more was coming–
I couldn’t face it. So, in my darkness, I froze and simply waited for more to come.

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