With Other Eyes

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Even if I couldn’t see it anymore, I could almost feel the alien space ship hanging expectantly only a few kilometers away from the Hawking space station. The Travelers, as they called themselves, had arrived four days earlier and they were waiting for me—but I wasn’t ready!

I slammed my fist against the bulkhead in frustration. “Damn it, Lazz! Why can’t I get the hang of using these damned eyes? It’s been week and I can barely tell a doorway from a wall. It only took you a couple of days.”

A shadow moved across my virtually non-existent vision and I smelled the tantalizing scent of a fresh orange as it was peeled.

“Relax, Mitch. You’ll get it in time. It was easier for me because I’ve been blind for almost twenty years. I didn’t have a lot of un-learning to do—”

“I know.” I sighed and repeated his constant litany of reassurance over the past week: “ ‘You only had your eyes removed a few weeks ago, and you’re still trying to focus and see the way you used to’. But it isn’t working!” I complained.

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