I am the narrator. The author if you will. My name is not important; you’re reading this for the story, are you not? Our character’s name will not be told. But feel free to put one in if you like.
We’ll begin with our clever little boy walking down the sidewalk. On his long walks home from school you can imagine how bored a child his age would get. And in his boredom he developed a game. He would close his eyes but continue to walk. By using his other senses, he tried to stay in a straight line. Often he heard the crunch of snow beneath his shoes and knew he’d strayed from the path. He laughed to himself thinking: how strange I must look to passing cars, stumbling along like a drunken man. But still he continued his trivial amusement.
Through this game he learned a great many things. He learned, by heart, the scent of different pine trees, and the clean, cold smell of winter. He knew the size of any car that passes him, by the sounds of its movement alone-which I’m sure you can do too if you tried. He knew even the sound of a squirrel, which I am not certain you could name.
Most importantly he felt and fought the strong pull of temptation. Every time he felt for sure he was going to trip and fall into a pit leading only to a vast abyss. Every time his curiosity tickled him the temptation desperately tried to pry open his eyes and many times it won. He had never ever felt such a feeling before and he thought of how this must be how the people who encountered Medusa would feel, of course she does not exist nor do those people.
But neither I nor the boys are finished yet. He discovered something else. There is a reason people close their eyes when relaxed or sleeping. Same reason a dead person’s eyes are closed for them. Peace. The loss of senses can create one of the most peaceful experiences you can have. Of course I will not speak for deaf or blind people or the like. I imagine their experience is different.
The boy reflected again to the millions of folders he considered his brain, and he thought of a horse being muzzled. A wild bucking horse gone completely calm and obedient by the use of a full eyes, ears and mouth muzzle.
The boy flipped back and forth between his many files trying to figure out if this was a good or bad thing. And finally when he thought the files might rip from so much flipping he decided it was both.
With his fine conclusion settled into a new folder he continued his game in an innocent bliss for as long as he could. When that was gone he was left with that neatly packed, yellow, tabbed folder. He vowed never to let it get dusty.