❝Every closed eye is not sleeping, and every open eye is not seeing.❞ 

The sunshine dawned grace upon the golden locks that cast over her face; the warmth infusing with the icy pallor of her skin. A soft breeze moved in harmony with her bouncy steps on the cobblestone path. It was not every day the sun shined on the streets of the town, and she was more than happy to get a little sunshine.

Around her were a few people, either milling around a particular shop or gushing about the latest vintage edition that had appeared in the market. Those people whispered sweet nothings.

However, every time a head whirled in her direction, nothing but silence had prevailed; replacing the whispers. Regardless, she paid no heed to them; her heart harbored no hate for someone she could not see.

Keeping a firm hand on her stick, she continued to wander in the vintage-themed market of the town of Meadowille. Every now and then, her mind would get occupied with the occasional praise of a shop or two, to which she would react upon; trying to locate the shop. Two strange voices, high pitched and cringe-y, chatted about the shop in the far corner of the market, and of the various goods, it harbored. For her, it was a bright chance to pursue those girls, listening to the loud clanking of their heels hitting the stones.

Painful to hear, they were, but she wanted to see that shop, and she sure was able to conjure up the strength to listen to their rantings on the hot boy that had come to the town as a freshman this year.

Maintaining a distance from the bodies around her, she went down the street.

Sliding up in her thick obsidian fur coat was her best decision for there had been signs of the arrival of the much-dreaded frost.

Those with glasses feared it for the havoc it created for them and their glasses, while those without would betwixt their fingers in their palms, cursing God for bestowing such a cold over them. The blind pitied themselves for not being able to delve deeper into the embrace of those beautiful colors surrounding them, and the deaf cried for not being able to hear the snow falling down. 

For her, it was different. She wanted nothing of such sort. Satisfied she was, with the darkness engulfing her vision even when she was able to see.

Modernized as they were, the people of Meadowille often complained over petty things, but she was no better; how selfish she was in her grief! And it made her ponder over the unjust, unruly prospect of life. The thing controlling their lives was water, whilst her fear governed her existence.

In her bothersome quarrel with herself, she had missed the shift of the wind that held witness to the change of the girls' direction. Naturally, she followed.
   
She kept a firm ear on their blabbering as gusts of winds charged in their direction with a continuous motion. The winds didn't stop, nor did the mouths ahead of her. One of them said, "Would you believe that? The dust will ruin my eyes, and I don't plan to go to the party tonight with red eyes. How do red, puffy eyes come off as impressive to a new hot guy such as Xander?"

"Well, my contacts are not going to suffer any less, you know," her friend replied.

First the boy, and now the dust. Typical.

Shaking her head at them, she held back the smile tugging at the corner of her glossy lips. The cloth pressed against her eyes granted her safety from the dust present in the air. What better benefit to possess than this one!

On the contrary to her thoughts,  she knew that benefit had not come without sacrifice; a big one at that.

Sometimes, in the still of the night, she would think of the brilliant colors and how it must feel to watch them. But for the life of her, she would not be able to open her eyes. The nagging voice at the back of her mind restricted her to do so. 

Halting in her steps in sync with the girls', a man's voice greeted her, undoubtedly the vendor of the shop.

"Good morning, ladies! What may I help you with?"

Judging from his tone and depth, she could tell he was a cheerful man around his early forties. His voice had an edge of perennial wisdom, the one solely achieved with age. Standing still around the corner of the shop, she let the girls buy their heart's delight. They ordered a few things; a bracelet studded with cheap diamonds, a necklace from the nineties, a flowery sundress which ought to bring men's attention to their bosoms (or say they said).

Pity worked its way into her heart as she heard them calling the man again and again.

Rather than saying their order altogether at the same time, they were making him run for things again and again. The man did not complain, but the quickening of his breath was enough of a signal. Anger replaced pity when her mind registered to the snickers of the girls. How dare they misbehave with elders! It was time she put them in their places.

Ditching her corner, she went up to the girls, her cheeks flushed with the cold and anger.

"Both of you, it is not nice to bother a man like that? Why don't you place your order in a go?"

Grunting noises bedecked the cackling air before one of them said, "How about you mind your own business? We will do whatever we want, and I don't see this old hag getting tired. Do you, Naomi?"

This one was going out of her limits by giving those names to the vendor. What did the parents teach their kids these days? More so, when and where did humankind lost its morals and values?

"No, Jean. I bet he's quite happy to be at our service. Anyway, would you look at this girl, so strange and weird she is! Who in the world ties a blindfold around their eyes?"

"Oh, her eyes must be ugly," the one named Jean sneered. "You, old man, I do not like to repeat myself. Pack the damned things."

"His bones have gone stiff. Did you not hear us, give us our stuff."

Lips trembling and nose flaring, she scoffed at the two immature brats that had no control over their tongues. From the looks of it, they had drunk all the alcohol their flings could provide to them since the age of ten. It was the only possible explanation for the likes of them.

"How about you two go home and repeat these words on your father's face. I'm sure you will be gifted with a sweet slap on your face." Swiveling in the merchant's direction, she grabbed his arm. "Don't sir. If they cannot respect an elder or his work, they don't deserve kindness. Other people will buy these items and appreciate them. Why not sell to someone whose delighted, starstruck eyes content your soul?"

"I-- you're right," he said. "You two can take your leave now. I have no intention to sell any of my jewelry or clothes to you. Have a great day ahead."

"What?" they both shrieked at once.

They started whispering to each other, the anger evident in their rash, incomplete words. She was able to catch snippets of their private conversation, but they were not enough to comprehend what they were cooking in their intoxicated minds. 

"Okay, we've decided. We're sorry for the misbehavior, sir. Would you please let us have the clothes now?"

It was Jean who had spoken up. She could differentiate between the two because Jean's voice was a pitch higher than Naomi's.

"Apologize to the young lady too."

Heads whirled in her direction and with gritted teeth, Jean asked forgiveness for the bad behavior. She, with a curt nod, forgave and dismissed them; disinterested to hear any more.

Forgiven they were but she knew their sudden apology had not been summoned by her words. All the way here, she glimpsed the excitement in their voices as they talked about the things the shop held, which meant what they wanted was nowhere but here. Letting go of those ornaments and jewelry was but a painful task.

Soon they disappeared, snatching the bag from the man's hand and she greeted their absence with anything except grief.

"Thank you for standing up for me. Kids like you are rare these days. Anyway, what should I get for you?" the man said once the girls were out if a hearing distance. That brought him a chuckle from her.

Replaying the list of items she had wanted in her head, she repeated the list to the man. "I will have a red sweater; nothing too heavy like the one I'm wearing. Also, do you have a grey scarf from the nineties and a collared vintage dress? If yes, I'll have them too."

"Right away," he said before scurrying away.

Minutes later, he came back, placing the contents on the counter where her hand laid. Roaming her fingers over the first thing that caught her hand, she examined it. The fabric was soft and comfortable.

"That's the red sweater, and the one next to it is the scarf, and the last one is the dress; its pastel pink in color."

"Why, thank you for bringing these for me. I'll be buying this all."

"That will be three hundred dollars."

The price did not come off as much for it was once in a year that the vintage market was laid out on the streets of the North Side.

Fetching out her phone from her coat pocket, she asked all the necessary details so she could pay him. There wasn't a spot on her phone which she didn't remember. Typing the amount and adding her own details, she clicked the space where the 'Proceed to Pay' button was supposed to be.

Her countless practice sessions with Madison were paying off nicely these days.

The click sound that followed after she tapped confirmed the payment. Taking the bag held out to her and thanking the man, she turned around but was stopped short when she heard him call her name.

"I didn't catch your name."

Laughing, she replied, "It's Elene."

"Well, Elene, don't pay attention to what they say. They know nothing about your eyes."

"I sure will, sir. Have a nice day ahead!"

"You too, young lady."

🌸 🌸 🌸

Departing from the market, she felt nostalgic. Vintage materials had been her favorite and leaving the fresh air of their presence bothered her.

The moment her feet landed in the cemented road; a striking contrast to the cobblestone paths of the market, her phone started vibrating in her pocket.

The song 'Let Me Love You' by the 'God of Music', Justin Beiber himself was playing. Agitated by the music but happy by the dialer, she took out her phone and put it against her ear. In order to identify the people who called her, she had set different ringtones for them all with the help of Madison, her best friend. That saved her the trouble of recognizing the person after picking up the call. 

"Elene! I can't believe that there are just fourteen days from New Year now. In no time, we will be celebrating the beginning of 2020; a new decade."

Giggling at the childish behavior of her friend, she said, "Whoa, you're riled up for this one, Mads."

"Why wouldn't I be excited about such a great event? By the way, I should let you know that Walker will be arranging the party this year in his estate. I better see you there when the party starts."

Elene groaned, dropping her bag on the ground. "Last time, it was Selena who was hosting the party, and we both know the girl hates my guts. Don't worry though, I will be there this year. I definitely can't wait to see what Sam will be arranging for the year."

Madison seemed satisfied by her answer and moved on from the topic. "Could you come to my apartment this evening? We have so much to plan, the gifts and all."

"Sure."

With that, she hung up the call. The idea to meet Mads was pleasing. Picking up her bag from the ground, she began to cross the road. A force hit her, and she went flying to the sidewalk, her bag lying near her arm; the rough fabric still against her skin.

Letting out a shriek, she clutched at her leg. The hot liquid trucked against her arm, hot searing pain coursing through her body. With a thud, a huge object fell beside her.

From the far distance, the tires of a heavy vehicle could be heard moving uniformly on the path. Disrupted was the uniformity as a thing came between the tires and the road. Her face paled, her pain a zero-sum compared to the disaster she was witnessing. It was the sound of bones breaking, ligaments tearing, and flesh ripping apart.

This time though, the blood reached her before the sound. The thick rustic smell made her gag. In the atmosphere reverberated a loud scream, and she realized that it was her own. White surrounded her vision before she passed out to the loud shouts of the public. 

2245 words

• So, there we go. This is *coughs* the first chapter of my first-ever romance.

• Feel free to criticize the hell out of my work because:
1. I'm fifteen (so young).
2. English is not my native language.
3. Romance is not my forte.
4. You're helping me improve.

• Please be kind while criticizing.

• Next update will be somewhere between the week.