The Star and the Blind

A time long ago, when there were dirty lanes and horses on the street, there lived a girl, whose face had the cheeks of plums and the eyes of the sky. She was always dressed in the most finest of clothes. She was not the most fortunate of people, although on the outside, many would exclaim with delight at her appearance. They did not know of her lonely tears, nor of her empty house.

She lived alone, this young girl, struggling with finding food. Her fine clothes had been given to her from her deceased mother; she refused to give them up, no matter how much money was offered to buy them from her. They were the only things left of her mother, besides the memories embedded in her heart.

On one starry evening, a lonely quietness stilled within her and her tiny little house did not feel friendly at all. The sky seen through a window with no glass was too tempting to resist. With just a thin dress on, she left her matchbox house to gaze upon the stars of lost souls. Her mother was up there, she knew, as was her father, residing happily among the fiery lights.

Her bare feet encased themselves in dry blades of grass, dirt beginning to edge its way between her toes. Shoes were a novelty she could not afford, but she did not mind; the feeling of the earth under her feet was a love she could not deny. Her souls were rough but so were her hands, so it did not matter.

As she stared into the dark blue of the sky, a sound came to her attention, a sound that broke the stillness. A rustling startled her and her elfin feet took her back a few steps, wariness creeping into her fair features. Neither man nor animal came close to her home; it was an unspoken rule that many obeyed.

To her shock, a man stepped out of the bushes and into the circle of light the candle in her hand cast. She stayed silent, despite her well-taught manners urging her to introduce herself and ask him his name. No words were spoken between the pair. After a time passed, she came to the realisation that his eyes did not focus, but stared upon the same spot without change. A moment later, she thought he must be blind.

"Are you blind, sir?" she asked before she could stop her curiosity. She wondered for a brief moment if she sounded rude. Her mother would be so ashamed, if that was so.

The strange man had jumped at the sound of her voice and when he spoke, his voice flowed smoothly, hesitation shown only slightly. "I did not know I was with anyone. I am sorry if I have interrupted anything. As an answer to your question, yes, I am blind."

"Do you have a place to sleep?" Now she knew she was treading off the path of "polite but distant" as she was supposed to be when talking to strangers, especially men. It was one of the many rules her mother enforced and she felt a little regret for disobeying her, even in death.

“No.” His answer was short and offered no explanation. More curiosity was pressed into her mind and she was glad he could not see her expression. She found it easier to talk to men who could not look upon her.

"Would you like to sleep in my house, if only for the night?" This was inappropriate, she knew, but she loathed the idea of him sleeping on the ground outside, freezing and unprotected. It was an act of kindness she could give him and her mother said kindness was to be put above all other things.

He replied, "Yes, if that does not hinder you in any way." She, suddenly feeling bold, reached out with her doll-like hand and held his. Slowly, she led the way into her house, not speaking a word except to warn of anything he could have run into. A smile was lighting its way onto her lips, finally cracking the sad face she usually wore.

"I feel loneliness in your hand." His voice held a sadness and an understanding that she could not help but fall in love with. She did not reply but instead, squeezed his hand a little tighter to admit, yes, he was right. There was loneliness not only in her hand but also in her heart.

"You may sleep here," she finally said after laying a cloth upon the ground, with a blanket to pull over him. It was the best she could offer. She herself would have to go without a blanket that night but she no longer felt the cold.

With help, he was lying on the floor, snug in the blanket – or as snug as he could be with only a thin cloth between his body and the hard wooden floorboards. She could have offered him a place in her mattress but that would be so inappropriate, her mother would turn in her grave.

"How old are you?" he asked abruptly and for a moment, she thought about how rude it was to ask a question like that. However, she found she did not care and did not mind answering.

"I am seventeen years old." He smiled slightly but then that smile turned deeply into a frown of sadness.

"You are too young to feel lonely." His young face revealed that he did not altogether agree with his statement.

"No one is too young to feel," came her sweet and sad reply. Bitter underlines accented her sentence. Maybe a part of her wished there was an age that was too young to feel emotions such as loneliness. Maybe she just wished she did not feel it at all.

"That is true," he agreed quietly. His eyelids closed and for a minute, she wondered if he had fallen asleep in his makeshift bed, as she knelt beside him. But then, his eyes opened once more, revealing that he was not yet asleep. "Forgive me if this is offensive to you, but would you allow me to stay, to try to take away your loneliness? I cannot see anyone else trying." A truth in his words led her to believe that he was not just staying for food and shelter, but for something more.

“Please do,” she murmured and then smiled when after a moment of searching, his hand found hers.