He is my blind spot, the part I’m oblivious to, the part I refuse to see. He has robbed me so many times, over and over and over again, but still I see nothing. Merely a mirage. A shimmer on the horizon. I can hear him; his smooth talk, like an eel, cool and shining and so slippery you cannot get a good hold, you just watch as his words slip away back into the depths of the air. I can smell him, his stale cigarettes; his signature perfume. I never touch him though, that is forbidden, he pulls away if I dare to inch forward. I ran away, but he tracked me down, and still I don’t see the damage and destruction I allowed. Others point it out, slam it in front of me, showing me pictures and telling me truths. But I am blind to this, because deep inside he feeds me, a part of me that I am blind to, it is a meeting of our darkness, tentacles reaching each other through the distance, a tugging, a needing a longing, a destroying. Perhaps I am his blind spot too, perhaps he only sees the outer me, the smile, the lies and the perfume bought in airport lounges. Perhaps I need a special mirror, attach it to my emotions so they can reflect from all angles. I could buy one, but I don’t. We are a car crash in slow motion neither of us can escape from. |
. |
Blind Spot by Katie Welch
Filed under Katie Welch
Love this: “like an eel, cool and shining and so slippery you cannot get a good hold”
So much to enjoy in this, the language, the imagery, and pared down prose style. The sad demise that so many people live.
I love this! An entire lifetime of passion, anguish, and emotion so beautifully described in less than 250 words. Thank you for sharing.
Well done, this internalization that questions yet poses more questions as it unravels.
This reads like poetry.
Thank you for all your kind comments, I enjoyed writing this piece and am delighted that you are enjoying it too.
Katie.
nice job.
Pingback: Week # 47 – Blind Spot | 52|250 A Year of Flash
You portrayed this character very well.