PHOTOPHOBIA
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A young man peered out from a tiny crack in curtain, making sure no light found its way in. A red, nondescript car pulled up to the curb in front of the house, bags and bags of groceries stuffed inside. He backed away from the window, quickly closing the curtain tight, and pulled down the wooden sheet that hung above the window. With the window blocked, and the young man satisfied, he made his way to the front door. In the darkness of his living room, he unlocked the front door.
He heard the ruffling of paper bags and clanking of metal cans and was suddenly filled with excitement. “Hey, Bleu, it’s me. Open up!” called a voice from the other side of the door, and the excitement was gone. As much as he anticipated this delivery, Bleu hated this part with a passion. Reluctantly, he turned the door **** and pulled it back. A sliver of light slithered inside like a snake, poisoning Bleu’s eyes. Instantly, he closed his eyes tight and pulled back the door.
The ruffling continued as the delivery man carried the bags inside. “It’s okay, Bleu, you can close the door now,” he said warmly, his voice clear and smooth like butter. Bleu, anxious, slammed the door shut, opened his eyes, and quickly locked it. He eyed the spot where the light touched the rug, his heart racing and sweat coating his forehead.
The delivery man made his way through the living room and into the kitchen, navigating through the shadowy darkness that was Bleu’s house. He put the bags on the floor and immediately went back to a panicking Bleu. “Babe, hey, hey, look at me,” the delivery man cooed, grabbing Bleu’s hands. “It’s okay, I’m here now.” He hugged Bleu tightly, Bleu couldn’t stop shaking.
“Too bright…” Bleu muttered. “Way too bright.”
15-Aug-2012 05:00:05