Blinded

Yes.
Or no.
That’s it. That’s the only choices I have. You might say I always have the choice of waiting, but that would be saying no.
Yes.
Or no.
And whichever I chose might kill me.
So what do I do? I sit outside during a cold night smoking a so-called ‘cancer stick’ – blind.
I should go for a walk – just to put my life even more at risk.
This is usually when one might reevaluate their life and figure out if it has been worth living and if they’ll leave something meaningful behind, or perhaps leave something they don’t want other people to find, ‘cause it might change the way they’ve seen you and it might hurt them.
But my mind isn’t working.
I can’t think.
I can just smoke. And feel the cold wind against my face and hands. And smell the smoke mixed with the crisp, fresh, moist air. And still taste the coffee that I drank before I thought about going to bed – stupid, I know. The wind whistle in my ear. And what I see? Well, you already know that, don’t you?
The bus door opens and heavy footsteps make their way towards me. I hear a shudder from the person. I guess it is a little cold.
A bundle of limbs and clothes crash onto a plastic chair – the plastic scraping over dirt and gravel. The plastic squeeks a little – the person in the chair probably getting comfy.
I take another drag and slowly exhale the smoke that I can only feel – not see.

“What ya doin’ up?” Ray sounds like a rapper when he’s tired – and agitated. I can’t help but smirk.

“Smoking,” I whisper. Something about tonight just makes me want to whisper. I guess I’m afraid of ruining the nothing that’s in the air.

“What’d the doc say?” Ray whispers.
But it still ruins the nothingness.
I take a long drag and exhale it very slowly.
What did he say?
The cigarette burns my fingers and I flick the butt away.

“I’ll probably need a surgery.” I rub my nose a bit with my – now free – hand. It’s cold.
“I have a small gathering of blood in the back of my head that’s pressing against my brain. That’s why I can’t see. It should’ve gone away on its own, but…” I sigh.
“I hasn’t, so the doctor wanna go in and do it.” I try to prevent the image of the needle from popping into my head, but yeah – impossible.
I shudder.

“So they’re gonna…” He sighs. I just listen.
“Operate on your head?” I nod slowly. Then lower my head. I pick at my nails as if I can still see them.
“How?”

“They’re gonna drill a hole in the back of my head and…” Needle.
I shudder.
“They’re gonna get the blood out.” I try to control my breathing.

“Isn’t that kinda…dangerous?” He’s awake now. His language is somewhat normal.

“Yeah.” My voice is barely audible. It’s just air that passes my lips – bringing just enough force to form an airy sound that might sound like an answer.
“It could kill me.” There’s a tiny bit of voice supporting my words now, but it’s still weak.
I don’t even know why I just said that last bit. It’ll only hurt him. It’ll only make everything worse.
But it’s the truth.