Read Online A Hero's Curse by P. S. Broaddus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: P. S. Broaddus
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silent for a moment more, and I sink back against the cool tunnel wall. I decide I don’t care. They can eat me. It’s not so bad, being prey and giving up at the end. It’s like a sweet release.
“This salamander is indicating they have food, and I think it’s saying something about your arm.” Tig’s whiskers brush against my face. “If we were looking for something in here, I think this is it.” His paw touches my face. The pads on his paw are cool and feel good. He says something else that I don’t understand. I feel unconsciousness taking me.
I jerk my arm and scream, but my scream doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like me. It is a horrible choking gurgle, too high and weak to be my voice. Something is touching my arm. Sharp hot needles of pain shoot from my arm into my side and travel to my teeth. I groan, but they don’t stop messing with my arm.
Tig’s voice sounds far away. “Easy, Ess. We’re just trying to help.”
I try to focus on the implications of “we.” Another shock of pain makes me feel sick, and mercifully, the rest of my senses join my sight by fading into darkness.
Chapter 8
I t is one thing to hear monsters bump in the night. It is quite another to never be able to light a lamp to chase them away.
I recall a long time ago, a few years after I first went blind, I had my first bad tumble and became terrified of the world around me. I curled into a ball under my blankets and rocked and cried for months. I barely ate, and I jumped at the slightest sound. Mom would try to hold me, but I would scream and cower in the furthest corner of my bed with my back against the wall. I developed a strange habit of knocking my hand against my leg. The gentle “thump, thump, thump,” from my tiny fist on my leg became the defining sound in our home, and a hard lump grew on my leg where the muscle knotted.
Mom and Dad and Tig eventually, patiently pulled me out of those dark and horrible months, but for years I still felt the fear claw at my throat. My breathing would become shallow and my chest tight. I felt lightheaded, my carefully trained senses would become blurred, and I could barely hear through the ringing in my ears. In those moments, I felt like hiding again, and sometimes I would compulsively tap my leg. But I haven’t hit my leg for years.
Now I’m awake, curled into a tight ball with my hand tapping my leg. I must have been here for some time because my leg is already sore. I try to tell my fist to stop so that I can listen, but my brain is slow and sticky. It takes several tries before my hand receives the signal. I pin my hand underneath me to keep it still, then I reach out with my senses to see the world around me. As I drift back into consciousness my senses jump to the alert, looking for danger. I’m hurt, and I’m in a strange place.
Uncle Cagney once told me that nearly all of what people know and understand about the world is from their sight. “You can’t replace your sight, Lady Ess,” he had said, “so you’ll have to make the rest of your senses take up the slack.” I took him seriously and honed my senses of hearing and smell by the hour, with Tig ever present to coach and correct.
Tig. I hear the gentle thrumming. It reminds me of rain on the roof of our house a long time ago. I had almost forgotten rain sounded like that. Even in my half-awake state, I know my surroundings and situation have changed drastically. My senses tell me I am not in danger. Not immediately anyway.
My arm is my next focus. It’s stiff, but not hot or cold. It is a comfortable warm. It’s wrapped in something soft and inflexible and itches like crazy. I don’t move to check it with my fingers. I’m not ready to give away that I’m awake. I move on. I’m lying on a bed of what feels like the same soft, scratchy material that covers my arm.
Tig is purring next to my leg. His tail is still. I can imagine his eyes
“This salamander is indicating they have food, and I think it’s saying something about your arm.” Tig’s whiskers brush against my face. “If we were looking for something in here, I think this is it.” His paw touches my face. The pads on his paw are cool and feel good. He says something else that I don’t understand. I feel unconsciousness taking me.
I jerk my arm and scream, but my scream doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like me. It is a horrible choking gurgle, too high and weak to be my voice. Something is touching my arm. Sharp hot needles of pain shoot from my arm into my side and travel to my teeth. I groan, but they don’t stop messing with my arm.
Tig’s voice sounds far away. “Easy, Ess. We’re just trying to help.”
I try to focus on the implications of “we.” Another shock of pain makes me feel sick, and mercifully, the rest of my senses join my sight by fading into darkness.
Chapter 8
I t is one thing to hear monsters bump in the night. It is quite another to never be able to light a lamp to chase them away.
I recall a long time ago, a few years after I first went blind, I had my first bad tumble and became terrified of the world around me. I curled into a ball under my blankets and rocked and cried for months. I barely ate, and I jumped at the slightest sound. Mom would try to hold me, but I would scream and cower in the furthest corner of my bed with my back against the wall. I developed a strange habit of knocking my hand against my leg. The gentle “thump, thump, thump,” from my tiny fist on my leg became the defining sound in our home, and a hard lump grew on my leg where the muscle knotted.
Mom and Dad and Tig eventually, patiently pulled me out of those dark and horrible months, but for years I still felt the fear claw at my throat. My breathing would become shallow and my chest tight. I felt lightheaded, my carefully trained senses would become blurred, and I could barely hear through the ringing in my ears. In those moments, I felt like hiding again, and sometimes I would compulsively tap my leg. But I haven’t hit my leg for years.
Now I’m awake, curled into a tight ball with my hand tapping my leg. I must have been here for some time because my leg is already sore. I try to tell my fist to stop so that I can listen, but my brain is slow and sticky. It takes several tries before my hand receives the signal. I pin my hand underneath me to keep it still, then I reach out with my senses to see the world around me. As I drift back into consciousness my senses jump to the alert, looking for danger. I’m hurt, and I’m in a strange place.
Uncle Cagney once told me that nearly all of what people know and understand about the world is from their sight. “You can’t replace your sight, Lady Ess,” he had said, “so you’ll have to make the rest of your senses take up the slack.” I took him seriously and honed my senses of hearing and smell by the hour, with Tig ever present to coach and correct.
Tig. I hear the gentle thrumming. It reminds me of rain on the roof of our house a long time ago. I had almost forgotten rain sounded like that. Even in my half-awake state, I know my surroundings and situation have changed drastically. My senses tell me I am not in danger. Not immediately anyway.
My arm is my next focus. It’s stiff, but not hot or cold. It is a comfortable warm. It’s wrapped in something soft and inflexible and itches like crazy. I don’t move to check it with my fingers. I’m not ready to give away that I’m awake. I move on. I’m lying on a bed of what feels like the same soft, scratchy material that covers my arm.
Tig is purring next to my leg. His tail is still. I can imagine his eyes
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