To See Without Eyes

To See Without Eyes

Anticipation set in as she gripped Parker's hand. She swallowed hard. She was prepared for this.
"Where are you taking me?" Parker snickered lightly.
"We're already here," Scarlett said, releasing the pocket of air in her lungs. "I want to show you something."
"Good luck with that," Parker's excitement collapsed inward, creating a mound of dirt in his stomach, "Unless you found a way to cure this nightmare."
Although he hadn't asked for it, nor did he do anything to deserve it, Parker was born incurable. He was blind. The most he could distinguish was if a light in the room lingered, but even that might as well have been omitted. The corner of Scarlett's mouth turned upward remorsefully. She spoke in a hushed tone as she turned the doorknob.
"Almost," she said as she steered him towards a nearby empty classroom. "Have you ever tried painting?" She asked him with careful wording as to not damage his feelings.
"How can I paint when I can't even see the light of day?" The grip from his hand loosened, but his grin was still partially apparent. Scarlett smiled into his deficient gaze.
"How silly," she retorted casually, "Real artists never use their eyes." She giggled tenderly. "You do have a brain, don't you?" Parker's smirk fled the scene.
"Of course I do," he snorted, "I'm not a vegetable. What are you trying to say?" Scarlett broke into a melodious laugh. This was Parker's most favorite echo in the world.
"I'm not insulting you," Her harmonic voice was friendly, "It was only a question." She smiled before him and then turned to the window, freeing his hand from her grasp. Parker's mind scrambled for a moment, loosing sense of where he was. He stood in place, knowing she was near.
"It's what comes from the imagination," she said, "that's the best kind of art. Almost always, what you visualize with your mind can be way more interesting than what you see in front of your eyes. I don't use my eyes when I paint. I think that's boring." She carefully inserted a paintbrush in-between his fingers.
"What is this?" he questioned her, though trying to decipher it on his own.
"It's a paintbrush," her soft smile was directed behind Parker's eyelids. "I'm curious as to what it is you can… 'see'." Parker's mouth turned crooked, and then he turned in the direction of her voice. He smiled acceptingly.
"I'd like you to see what I 'see'." With some of Scarlett's guidance Parker adjusted his paintbrush on the canvas. He leisurely began to paint. He used loose, weightless strokes. "This is how your voice sounds to me. It's light and calm." Now he made his strokes more valiant. "And these are your eyes." Roundish shapes emerged on the image. "They're bright," he splattered paint onto the work of art, "and curious. And they stand out from the rest of you. Your eyes, unlike mine, can see, but behind our eyelids, we dream." Scarlett stepped back, at a loss of words. She put her hand on his and painted with him.
"I'll be your eyes," she spoke in his ear, sending Parker a single, racing chill, "And with your hand in mine, we'll both 'see' with our mind."