blindstan

[blindstan]

I'm afraid of the dark.

*crunch* *crunch* *crunch* The autumn leaves made soft noises under my shoes as I passed through the trees of the dark forest. Of course, the forest was always dark for me, but the repeatative song of the crickets and tree frogs told me it was nighttime. My cane tapped against the turnks as I walked allowing me to proceed without issue. The cane wasn't completely necessary, but I found a small sense of comfort in the action. I remember seeing a movie before my...accident...that showed some blind superhero using some echo-location bullshit to see. I can't speak for most, but I have never experienced that particular fantastical bit of Hollywood magic. What I did have was a keener sense of hearing and smell that allowed me to pinpoint objects and people by focusing on their sound or smell. This did little for things such as above ground roots, so I preferred the extra bit of help that my cane provided. I should also say I'm not completely blind. I can see small variations in light and if the room is bright enough I might see some dark shadows that might resemble people. So when I saw the small spot of yellow light in the distance I assumed it was the house I was searching for. 'Kill them...they did this to you...they darkened your worls...kill them...kill them...' The voice in my head began to get excited. It often did this when I got close to a victim. Now, I know that this is not normal and is probably a result of intense trauma. However, if the voice is a figment of my imagination it must be a part of me. The first few days after the voice began to speak to me were hard. I cried a lot. I was terrified. Eventually I got used to it. Then eventually I started to listen to it. It helped me get back at Brad and after he died I felt better. I smiled for the first time in a week. So I killed more, everytime the voice told me to, I killed and I felt better after. In the beginning it was medicinal, then it was addicting, and finally it became fun. As I approached the small houses back yard I could hear the faint sounds of a TV coming from inside. I smiled because this meant a window was open. My cane soon came in contact with the wooden planks of a fence. I looped the start of my cane around my wrist and slid my gloved hands up the face of the fence until my fingers crested the top. I pulled myself over as quietly as I could and landed in the yard with a muffled thud. I shut my eyelids to block out the small glow of light I could see and focused on the sound of the TV. It was coming from the right side of the house so I made my way over and slowly reached out to make sure there was no glass. My hand made contact with a screen cover and I scowled. This was going to be more difficult than I wanted. I reached to my hip and drew a small hunting knife from its leather sheath. I carfully stuck it through the mesh near the top left corner of the screen and began to methodically cut a hole in the cover. After the deed was done I placed my can in the inside of the room against a wall and hefted my slender frame into the residence. I inhaled deeply and picked up on the smells of shampoo and soap and toilet water. I tapped lightly around me with my cane and wood met porcelain which confirmed this was a bathroom. The sound of the TV was coming from directly in front of me and now I could hear the added harmony of a man's snoring. This must be the master bath and the man must have fallen asleep while watching TV. 'An easy kill...aneasy kill...an easy kill...' The voice was dripping with blood list and I had to block it out to focus. I opened the already ajar door and drew the hidden bad from my cane. My heart was racing and I began to grin uncontrollably. The tension in my face caused my damaged eyes to leak blood, but I ignored it for now. I took one step out of the bathroom...when my foot hit something metallic. The can made a loud clattering as it flew into the rest of the discarded cans that rested on the floor by the bed. The sudden stench of cheap beer told me the guy had drunk himself into sleep which explained why the TV had been left on. Apparently, the man hadn't been too far gone, because the clattering was followed by a panicked rustling as the man got off the bed. "Who the hell are you?!" He cried out as he noticed my blade and the blood on my face. I cursed my blindness as I tried to formulate a plan to deal with this change in plan. I turned towards the noises that must have been my victim and I was about to spring forward on the offensive when I heard a very distinguishable sound. The unmistakable clicking of a guns hammer being pulled back. I froze. Guns were...difficult for me to work with it. They required you to be able to read small changes in body language, a feat that I obviously could not do. So I had developed a system. A system that had been created through very painful trial and error, I still had scars from some failed attempts. I had learned that a normal civilian hesitates before they fire a gun. I guess it is a regard for human life that most people have. I find it convenient. Most people take about 3 to 5 seconds before they pull the trigger. This means I have a small widow of opportunity. I counted to 3 and I began to move. The gun roared and I felt a hot sting graze by my neck as I ducked to the side and rushed forward. Another fun fact is most people get startled by a gun even if they fired it which means you have a little time before they fire again. It was in this window that I dove forward and drove my blade through the man's chest. Then the gun went off again. The man's arm was over my shoulder and the bullet came nowhere close to hitting me, but my heightened hearing screamed with pain as the loud bang of the firearm bounced around my skull. I let go of the cane and clapped my hands over my ears. I became queasy and tripped over my own legs. I hit the ground hard and began to roll in pain. It was several moments before the ringing in my ears became tolerable. I got to my feet and shuffled my feet across the floor until I found the body. I felt around for my cane and felt a large pool of warm metallic smelling blood. I grinned again as the voice began to laugh on glee. I pulled my blade out and cleaned it on his sheets. I sheathed it and inhaled deeply. The metallic smell filled my nostrils and my heart began to calm and I shivered. I flexed my neck, shoulders, and back and felt the joints pop as the muscles relaxed. I am always surprised at how much tension builds up in between kills. Addiction is a funny thing, you know you need it, but you never know how much until you get your fix. I was about to leave when the voice cooed sweetly in my head *Don't...forget...the EYES*

[blindstan]

Suspect Profile

Name: Stanley Combs Alias: Blind Stan Species: Human Age:roughly 24 Height: 5' 11'' Weight: 135 lbs Hair: strawberry blond/ shoulder length and shaggy. Eyes: Black (8ball fracture) Identify Features: Black eyes due to trauma. Scarring around eyes from improperly healed ocular fracturing. Eyes may occasionally bleed from tear ducta as a result of internal damage. Typically wears red converse, black jeans (slightly tattered) black and red striped thermal ( white undershirt for warm weather), and a white cloth around his broken eyes (dark aviator sunglasses when in public to blend in) Carries a sword cane that doubles as weapon and walking aid. Also known to carry various small weapons (pocket knives, brass knuckles etc) for more discreet work. Methods for killing victims as well as victim descriptions are diverse and impossible to pinpoint. The only reoccurring part is the removal of the victims eyes. Suspect is to be considered armed, mentally unstable, and highly dangerous. Do not approach.

[blindstan]

Maybe.

Maybe if Stan didn’t stutter, he’d talk to people.more.

Maybe if Stan wasn’t agoraphobic, he’d go out more.

Maybe if Stan was bigger, people wouldn’t pick on him as much.

Maybe if people were nicer, Stan wouldn’t hate them so much.

Maybe if the teacher listened, Stan would feel safer.

Maybe if the principal had done something, Stan wouldn’t have dropped out

Maybe if anyone cared, Stan wouldn’t be a hermit in his house.

Maybe if his father drank less, he’d notice his sons depression.

Maybe if his mother was more faithful, she’d be there to comfort him.

Maybe if he had been noticed, Stan would have felt better.

Maybe if he had been comforted, he would have smiled more.

Maybe if his father had paid the bills before sundown, Stan wouldn’t have gone out.

Maybe if Stan wasn’t afraid of the dark, his hands wouldn’t have been shaking.

Maybe if his hands hadn’t been shaking, he wouldn’t have dropped the envelope.

Maybe if Brad hadn’t been drinking with his friends, He’d be at home like we was supposed to be.

Maybe if Brad had thought more, they wouldn’t be driving by smashing mailboxes.

Maybe if there hadn’t been a bush, they would have seen Stan.

Maybe if Stan hadn’t heard the truck, he wouldn’t have stood up.

Maybe if the bat had missed…Stan wouldn’t be blind.

Maybe if the truck had stopped, they’d have seen the 8 ball fracture blackening his eyes.

Maybe if they had cared, they’d have seen the bloody tears fall.

Maybe if they had been concerned, they would have heard his terrified sobbing.

Maybe if they had checked on him, they could have calmed him down as the lights went out.

And maybe if Stan had lived in a better home, had better classmates, more attention, more help…more love…

Then maybe..

Just maybe…

Maybe he wouldn’t have snapped Maybe he wouldn’t have been so angry… And maybe they wouldn’t have found the headless body of Brad laying on the schools football field.

And maybe if his head had been found, they would have noticed his missing eyes.

Maybe if people had cared to notice the blind boy standing in the crowd of gawkers, they may have caught him.

Maybe.