Short Story (WC 1153) Healing

This week was the last assignment of my online writing course: a short story between 500 and 1500 WC.
As usual, I decided to use Alex (Zhendar) for my lesson. Enjoy! :)

One would think after four-hundred years the memory would have faded. Yet I remember that day as if it were only yesterday—although sometimes I wished I did not.

The seat felt cold and hard under me, but I did not dare move. My feet hung high above the ground, and no matter how I tried, I could not reach the floor. Mother had told me to wait here while she spoke with Father. To keep me company, she had given me a large stuffed animal. The bird was soft to the touch and smelled of her perfume. I wished it were alive, but she would not let me keep one so this was a nice compromise.

The sound of voices nearby caught my attention. The words sounded muffled.

"He's barely five, give him a break," my mother was saying.

"That's me," I whispered to the bird.

"I don't have time for this. I should be gone already, but no, because of this runt you gave me for a son, I'm stuck here and can't fulfill my duty," my father's words exploded loud in the room in contrast to the earlier whispers.

Startled, I almost fell off the chair. "Why is Father mad?" I asked the toy, which, of course, did not answer.

"Hush," said Mother. "He's blind, not deaf. You're talking as if he wasn't here."

"He might as well not be. Mika, did you read the doctor's assessment? He will hardly grow over six feet. That's a foot shorter than average. He's not a runt; he's half of one!"

"Oh Kheld, give him a chance. Height isn't all that matters. He's going to be exceptionally handsome, and already, he shows signs of gentleness and forgiveness, which you clearly lack."

"Don't get me started on that. You're not doing him any favor by over-protecting him. You need to toughen him up some. Kids are mean. They'll pick on him. If he doesn't learn to control his emotions, he'll live in a constant nightmare. Now, let's get this over with. My spaceship's ready. I can't delay my departure any longer."

The sound of delicate footsteps echoed in the now quiet room. My mother put a trembling hand on my shoulders before she kissed me with tear-wet lips. "Come. Your father will heal you now."

"There is no need. I do not want to see his face ever," I told her while hot tears ran down my cheeks.

"Please Zhendar," she whispered to me. "You're a very special child. Don't let anything change you, not even your father's stern words."

"Hurry up and come here. You've wasted enough time already."

"But I cannot see," I cried, looking into the darkness that surrounded me.

"Sure you can. Use your inner sight," my mother instructed me, "And your memory."

"I can't," I repeated and burrowed my nose in the feathers. My father seemed so far away. I did not think I could walk there on my own.

"Don't you want to see the bird?" Mother asked.

She had told me it would be my lucky charm. I was just thankful to have something to hold. The toy was as big as I was and I needed both arms to do so.

"You have no choice," his voice, my father's voice, slowly worked its way out to me. "I gave you everything you need. Now it's up to you to make good use of it."

Driven to do well by him so he might be proud of me, I tried to do as he coached me with only one thought in mind: If I were to succeed, maybe, just maybe, he would love me.

I set the big toy on the seat next to me and climbed down the bench. As soon as I was on my feet, I grabbed it back and held it tightly in my arms again. Still, I could not force myself to move.

"I know you can. You've done it before," my mother whispered. "Reach for that spark inside of you. Let it guide you. Open yourself to the world."

"What if I can't?" I asked although I feared the obvious answer; I would stay blind.

They did not formulate it in such harsh words. Instead, they offered me some comfort.

"Then we'll try again and again, until you succeed," my father replied. "If not today, then some other day, but we won't stop until you find the way out of your darkness."

"There's nothing wrong with your sight," my mother added caressing my cheek.

"Then why can't I see?" I asked muffling a sob in the fuzzy feathers.

"It's an old curse," my father tried to explain and was cut off by Mother.

"But we'll break it. Trust in yourself, and in us."

Her kind words gave me some courage. I defiantly raised my chin at that scourge they said had befallen on me, so desperate for an image of my parents I could keep in my mind even in those times of gloom when the whole world around me was nothing but an empty void.

Something fiery red assaulted my vision with its sudden bright color in my otherwise dark black world. Surprised, I quickly shut my eyes. The unexpected shock almost made me drop my new toy but exhibiting the swiftness of my species, I grabbed it back before it fell out of reach.

"That's it son, but you have to keep your eyes opened. The discomfort won't last long," my father said. His words offered promises.

I took a deep breath and did as he instructed. The bird slipped out off my arms but I did not let that disturb my concentration. Even at that tender age, I was tenacious, albeit some people considered it nothing more than a bad case of obstinacy or even plain bad attitude. I had heard them say that. Apparently, being blind had also made me invisible.

A hazy image formed in my brain first, and then it projected itself in front of me. As it became clearer and less blurred, much to my surprise, a man's face, my father's face appeared. His deep blue eyes sparkled. I gasped when I realized I was actually looking directly at him. I swiftly turned my head to have a good look at my mother, eager to attach an image to her gentle calming voice in case it all went away yet again. Her smile rocked my little world. She was crying but these were tears of joy. I could tell; I had the same.

"I believe it is done," he told her. "I know I said that the last time too, but I'm confident this time it will hold. I fastened it right on cue. He shouldn't have problems with his vision anymore." He turned to me and smiled. "You did well, son."

My heart swelled with joy. Father was proud of me, and for me, it was all that mattered then.