I still remember that event… I still think about it every single day. The last day I could see. The last day I could see my family properly. Now I don't see anything. I don't even know how long it had passed since The Great Blinding, I stopped counting ages ago.
I was getting ready to go home from work, saying goodbye to my coworkers as I cleaned my desk and clocked out. I went into the company's parking lot and entered my car, and started making my way back home. God, how much of a fool I was. I was driving, thinking about stopping at a grocery store to fetch errands, when… nothing. Nothingness filled my eyes. My vision was blocked and I could see only black. Panicking, I tried to keep my composure and slowed down the car, but it was useless. Just a couple of seconds later, my car ended up in a ditch.
I was in a coma for a week, and when I woke up, I was greeted by pitch darkness once again. The doctors informed me that I had been transported to a government building to keep me and the other citizens “safe”. When I asked about my blindness, the doctors were strangely avoiding my answer. The most I got was “The government was keeping us safe.” I had to stay in this building, God knows where, and for God knows how long, until we were “safe” to exit it and return to living normally. This was my new life, and I had to get used to it, whether I liked it or not.
The next thing I asked about was if my family is safe. They assured me they were, and after some extra tests to confirm I was safe to leave my hospital room, the doctors guided me to the cell my family resided in.
And for the preceding time, I was stuck there. Stuck in this government building. It felt like prison. It essentially was a prison. We were allowed to leave our cells at certain times of the day, the food was delivered to us, and only at night time we were allowed to talk to other inmates. I was glad that I could at least talk to my wife, and my children, and keep them company until this nightmare was over.
This stay made me question a lot of things. Is everyone blind here? Well, us “prisoners” are, that was for sure, but what about the guards that hung around our cells, the doctors that provided necessary aid and check-ups to make sure we stay safe and healthy, the chefs that brought us food three times a day? Could they see? Can they leave? Are they staying here as well? Asking anyone around here brought me no answers. Well, it got me an answer I didn't want to hear, or had already known. They kept blaming “The Great Blinding”, and everyone assured me that no one could see, not even the workers. “The Great Blinding”... I chuckle every time I hear that. No one confirmed nor denied the existence of it, everyone assumed they got their vision removed at the same time. Even the questions of how we went blind went ignored. I quickly accepted my faith and continued living in this prison.
You know, when you stay in darkness for too long, it kind of starts to consume you. Paradoxically, you start seeing things. You start hearing stuff that isn't even real. I at least hope that they aren't real. I started envisioning my parents, hearing them talk, inviting me to join them, to free myself, they gave color in this ill-lit world. They kept me safe. Hah… safe, I keep hearing it every single day. The government keeps us safe, the guards keep us safe, the doctors keep us safe. I'm starting to wonder if we really are safe, or just slaves of a system.

I remember reporting the visions and voices to a nearby doctor, who gave me prescription medication that supposedly helped clearing them away. It made them louder. The visions became more clear, it didn't help, but I didn't mind them. I enjoyed the time talking with my dad. It especially helped during recent times when some people became… awfully silent. Some completely stopped talking, not outing a single word out of their mouths. Even my wife, who kept me company every single day, stopped. I soon found out why. During one of my conversations with my dad he strangely kept repeating “Don't tell them you can see.” over and over again. Just like the others he refused to answer any kind of question I asked. I persisted, kept asking and asking, but the only response he gave was “Don't tell them you can see.”
I gave up and decided to lay in my bed, trying to nap, or sleep, whatever the time was at this point, when I started envisioning outlines of my hands. My bed. The room I was in. I discarded it as just another hallucination, but it was nice to finally be able to see… something. I saw that my family was dead asleep on their bed, and shed a little tear. How long had it been since I could see her hands? Her face? Her beautiful face. How big my children had grown, it felt like they were babies just yesterday. Oh I missed it so much.
Using this new ability of mine, the rooms seemed like they only had one window, along with four beds, one for each person staying here. The room we stayed in seemed like they had a lot of space, but what took my attention were the walls. Something was written on them, but I couldn't make out what it exactly was. Remembering what my dad said, I didn't say this to anyone. “Don't tell them you can see” kept repeating in my head.
I laid in my bed to rest, and I dreamt many wonderful dreams. I can finally see them. See a little bit, sure, but it wasn't just noise throughout the night. As I woke up, I couldn't wait to open my eyes and greet my family, but instead of getting greeted by grey outlines, for the first time in years, color greeted my retinas. I laid there in awe, unable to process what just happened. I saw the color of my clothes - white shirt with dark blue pants, along with black shoes. I finally saw my skin, my tattoos. I wanted to bawl my eyes out, but I had to stop myself. My childlike wonder soon faded, since I could finally inspect the words on the walls, and it was the last thing I wanted to read.
“Don't tell them you can see.” scribbled constantly on walls, on the floor, on the ceiling, on the doors, on the window. I was terrified. I remember my dad's words, and kept an act, and pretended like I still can't see.
The room was plain white, for someone who regained vision after a couple of years it gave me eyeache, and I just wanted to find out if I could see the outside world. I wondered if I was finally able to go home after every single one of us regained vision.
I waited for my family to wake up, and I tried avoiding eye contact as I gave them a good morning. Surprisingly, my wife spoke for the first time in forever. Strangely it seemed like she was avoiding eye contact, too. Can she see as well? I didn't care, I got my wife to talk. I missed talking to her, hearing her voice and the prose she spoke to me.
I tried looking out of the window in our room, but as with my past grey vision, I still couldn't see out of it. The window was… fake. The light in our room was artificial. I had a sneaking suspicion that something was up. I waited until breakfast was served, because that meant we could exit our rooms and roam the area until dinner. I finally was able to see what I was eating - scrambled eggs with some protein bar. I knew what I was eating, but seeing the yellow of the eggs and the brown of the protein bar was delightful. It distracted me from constantly reading those 6 words, repeated all across my room. After finishing my breakfast, I kept my composure from running out of the cell and went into the main area. It was still plain white, and that phrase continued repeating itself, even there. Was it really a blessing to have sight at this point?
The other inmates were still quiet, and more and more people didn't want to talk. I remembered during my time here that at the end of some hall, or some room, I felt a glass-like texture on my fingertips. It was probably a window, an actual window I could see through.
Faking being blind was easier than I thought. I mean, I couldn't see until today. I walked through the halls, trying to ignore the scribbles on the walls that were still repeating those wretched words. Wandering through this place, and trying to find that damn room, felt like an eternity. I was rushing to make it before dinner, while at the same time being slow so I wouldn't raise suspicion from the guards. If they could even see. I closely inspected them, and the doctors, and the chefs, and their pupils didn't move, it was like they were staring directly into my soul. While the guards were letting us out of our cells they didn't even move their eyes, they kept still. I didn't want to think about it too much, I just wanted to see the outside world.
I noticed how many people were going in the same direction I was. Did they want to see the outside world, too? I really wanted to talk to someone about this at this point, but those wretched words were a constant reminder not to. What would even happen if I hinted at my sight?
The halls felt like a constant loop, everything was the same. Just let me in that room, for God's sake. My plan was successful, and I found the room. Strangely though, during my quest the rooms weren't labeled at all. I mean, they were, if you count the constant repeating of “Don't tell them you can see.”
I opened the door which I assumed led to the room with the windows. I was right. I wish I wasn't. I walked right up to the windows, just to make sure what I was seeing was not an illusion, or a hallucination. It wasn't. Outside, the sky was ash. Skeletons of buildings stabbed the horizon. The ground cracked like burned paper. Nothing moved. There was no walkable ground, no breathable air, just ruins on top of ruins. This apocalyptic wasteland I couldn't bear. I realized that we were stuck here forever. We are going to roam this place forever. And for what? For safety? Safety from what? Never have I felt safe in this building. I wish for my eyesight to go away again. I don't want to accept this reality. The reality that I will never be able to live normally again. The reality of being enclosed in these bright white walls, eating the same food, drinking the same water, having the same conversations. The conversations that were slowly, but surely, fading away.
I kept looking at it, I kept looking at the outside world. Buildings destroyed, the grass extinct, the trees now dried panes. It felt dystopian. I couldn't live like this, there was no way I could continue this life of agony. This life of pain, punishment, and torment. Not after seeing this.
I turned around, the words on the walls creeping up on me. I closed my eyes as I put my head down, and yelled:

“I can see.”

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