I woke up to a interesting sight this morning. I saw a man in a hoodie huddled over in the corner. He was sitting there, motionless. I got out of my grody motel bed and retrieved an ever so convenient lamp off of my bedside table. I snuck up in front of him and nudged him with my foot. He looked up and I finally saw his eyes for what they truly were. Blind.
At first, I didn't recognize him. But then the outline seemed familiar. His shape. I dropped the lamp and heard it shatter on the floor. He reached his hand as if for me to help him up. I don't know how he made his way inside or how he was even able to see me. But something was guiding him. I grabbed his hand and felt a surge of nostalgia. Like I was sitting with an old friend.
I heard him ask me a question. It was faint at first but I eventually caught a voice in my head. His lips didn't move, but I heard him speak. He reminded me that he was only a friend. He told me that he wished to help. I told him he would have to prove it. He showed me everything.
When I woke up, it seemed to be the middle of the night. He was sitting next to me, watching. The only memories I had between me falling asleep and me waking up were images. Images from eyes which were not familiar to me. Images from his world. My family and friends being tortured. Maimed. Killed. I was seemingly forced to watch them go through all of this suffering. When I awoke, I thought I would punch him. Or strangle him. I should've, considering the things I saw him do.
Instead, I only felt pity. I felt sad for him. I would've ended it all had I been forced to do all those things. He was able to fight through to make sure the person he cared about lived. And that person was me. I don't know why, but I know he cares about me. I know he wants to help. I'll post when I next can, we're gonna hop outta here before they bill us.
-Casey
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