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I stumble along the road, not even bothering to scoop up the snow my cane catches. People openly laugh at me, but I don't care.
At least, that's what I say.
My cane frequently taps someone's foot, sometimes hard, sometimes soft, but either way, it hits them. Curses fly at me through the chilly December wind, floating on the breeze and drifting into my sharpened ears.
Why do they laugh at me? Just because I'm blind, I'm wrong? Because I hear those whispers. Really, they should be more careful. Don't they know sensory loss in one area leads to better senses in the others?
Of course not. Their all to perfect and conceited to think of anyone different or deformed.
"What a freak," someone breaths into a diamond-studded earlobe, "someone should lock her up. She's a terror." They laugh then, their chuckles carrying to me. My sobs fall to deaf ears. Their all to busy laughing.
My toe snags on a crack in the asphalt, and I'm down. I cradle my foot and cry, tears running down my wind-stung face to the frenzied beat of the giggles echoing around me. I press the swelling lump gingerly, fresh tears stinging my cheeks.
I desperately wish for someone to help. I lift my hands in a gesture, open and welcoming for help and companionship, but nobody moves forward. I am utterly alone.
I press my hands to the thin layer of snow on the ground and try to push myself up, but I am too weak. I fall back hard, my head cracking against the pavement. Pain explodes from every inch of my body.
Suddenly, I hear sirens. "Here she is!" somebody calls. A warm hand slips into mine.
"Hey, I'm Josh. Careful, now, it's ok. You're going to be fine."
He pulled me up gently, and I fell into his arms willingly enough. He loaded me onto a stretcher single handedly, impressing me even more.
Finally. Somebody decided to help little miss blind girl. Somebody felt it was worth while to guide me away from the hate and out of the snow.