Peripheral Vision | Flash Fiction
If we don’t face our demons, our demons will come for us.
Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts.
Bad things happen when it rains. I don’t mind it so much if I’m out and about. I even enjoy a nice walk around the neighborhood in the rain. But I’m stuck inside today and it’s so dark in my room. I woke up feeling pretty good, too, such a shame.
I suffer from a genetic disease called Retinitis Pigmentosa. I call it RIP for short. Like RIP my fucking vision because it’s basically toast. It could be worse. It’s not painful and I can still see. But it’s only a matter of time. First, it comes for your night vision. I haven’t driven at night in a decade. Then it comes for your peripheral vision, and the tunnel through which I navigate my world will keep shrinking and shrinking until… lights out.
I try not to let it get me down. I am gathering my clothes and toiletries for a shower when I see the first one. Feathery and gray, it seems to hover near the ceiling to my left. I turn my head quick and it’s moved. Now it seems to be on my right, near the corner where my comfy reading chair, colorful rug, and stack of unreads lies. I try to spend a little time reading there every day because I know the clock is ticking. I rush to my favorite corner, my sacred corner, and everything appears safe and untouched. Just to be sure, I…
