First Eye Blind

“Humanity,” the elder lectured to the crowded theater, “spent tens of thousands of years adrift in a world of lies programmed by the devil.

“Then, the Sightless surfaced, the first, worldwide generation of the blind. People panicked. At first. The next generation arrived every bit as blind as their predecessors, and so on, until extinction swallowed the curse of sight.

“The Prophet arrived shortly thereafter. She explained that the Prince of Lies had created every illusion that humanity ever witnessed.

“God had, in Her immeasurable wisdom, wiped away those deceptions.”

Satan had created the illusion of the sun to convince humanity of stars and other planets, to convince us that the Earth did not serve as the center point of existence.

What we mistook for the sun existed as a three-headed dragon that crossed the sky every day.

The oceans contained not water, but the salty blood of disemboweled angels.

Everyone knew these facts. The blind could finally see.

Reports, passed down via word-of-mouth, had expressed curiosity in regards to young Robert, who had arrived from his mother’s womb ten years ago.

Robert could navigate without a stick. He didn’t hear as well as the other boys, yet he seemed to understand his surroundings better than they did. He described, with alien details, the world.

Eventually, the God Corps understood. Robert could see.

The God Corps agreed that Robert would best serve the world if he volunteered his vision, sacrificed his eyes, himself.

“Don’t you understand that Satan filled your eyes with wicked lies?” the elder asked Robert. “You must remove them. Embrace blindness, for only darkness will protect you.”

Robert refused to grow blind.

Whispers reached the elder’s ears. People listened to Robert’s observations. They didn’t believe him, not openly, but they listened . . . and they repeated.

Robert threatened to undo all of God’s good work.

“Robbie,” the boy’s mother begged him at his trial. “You must tell the truth. Tell these people—” she waved at the massive audience gathered inside the courtroom “—that a dragon, not a 'ball of light' drifts across the sky. Tell them that angel blood fills the oceans. You must tell.”

“But Mom,” Robert said, “there is no dragon, and water fills the ocean.”

His mother whispered into his ear. “If not the truth, than at least tell the jury what they wish to hear.”

Robert refused.

A surprising few wished to witness the hanging.

The elder counted no more than twenty spectators, given their noise levels. Though they might’ve simply decided to keep quieter than usual, out of respect for the boy’s mother.

They hadn’t needed much rope, only enough for a noose that could reach a tree branch (minus the height of a stool), plus a few lengths to secure the boy’s wrists, ankles, and thighs.

The elder hadn’t heard the boy’s neck snap, but he checked, and failed to find, the boy’s pulse.

“God’s work accomplished,” the elder whispered.


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