Blinded. Fran Sánchez

a pair of binoculars, they verified their main target was waiting for the next bus. Making himself known, the stutterer skidded around the plaza and stopped next to his friend pressing hard on the brakes. Angel listened to their conversation through his earphones, their greetings, their trivial talk. The stutterer almost gave himself away on mentioning the exact amount of the loot, which his partner was unaware of. They made their way to the prisoner’s house, next to the cemetery. The conversation was now about the present situation of their old acquaintances, they were catching up.

      They had to park in the marginal neighborhood’s vicinity to keep from blowing their cover. The audio’s quality and intensity fell, but it was audible. After staying for a while in Indaletius’s old house, the criminals made their way to the cemetery on foot. Angel was excited, the prisoner had just confirmed that the loot was hidden there.

      “Attention headquarters!” he called on the radio, “Tracking unit requesting backup at the cemetery. Confirmed, the money is in the cemetery.”

      “Received, tracking unit! Backup units en route, we’ll set up by the door, follow them and keep us informed.”

      “Received, proceeding.”

      They moved closer from their position to the entrance of the cemetery. Recently opened, a lot of tranquility was felt in the air at that hour. They barely saw any visitors, which made it very easy to spot and follow the criminals at a certain distance. They went on for a while as they made their way into the great cemetery. They left the gardens and the streets of niches and entered the place known as the high class area, made up of family vaults and mausoleums, some luxurious, others in good condition, while others were a bit abandoned.

      The stutterer stayed outside as the other one went down into a very old subterranean crypt, almost in ruins.

      Angel hid behind a large tombstone, watching, sheltered between the feet of the angel that crowned it.

      “Backup units in position,” he heard through the earphones.

      The well-cared-for cemetery was very pretty that sunny morning. The color of the lawn and the tall cedars shone brightly. Suddenly, the green became increasingly brighter, as if it were dissolving along with all the other colors until they turned white, such a brilliant white that it burned the eyes, such a brilliant white that forced Angel to close and cover them with his hands. After being blinded by the inexplicable shine, and after some seconds of confusion, he opened them to a total darkness. He could not keep them open, the sticky eyelids prevented it. He told his partner to stay by his side; he was also in a similar state. He tried to contact the backup team, but nobody answered.

      He was nervous, scared, very alarmed, and at the same time anxious for some answers, to know and understand what had happened and why it was happening.

      They heard some voices coming from the main path of the cemetery. It was the stutterer and his friend.

      “Help, we can’t see, we’ve been blinded,” shouted Angel.

      “Shit… shit, they gotta be cops, they must’ve followed us,” said Culebra quickly.

      The partners in crime hurried to make their escape. Angel took out his service firearm and, aiming blindly, ordered them to stop. He was tempted to open fire, but he did not want to risk shooting an innocent bystander. Since he did not get an answer, he raised his arm towards the sky and shot several times in the air, trying to scare them into hopefully making them turn themselves in. He waited a couple of seconds. Not a sound, not a sign, he gathered they must have fled. All he had left was hope.

      “Backup team, we’re in trouble, they’re getting away, stop them at the exit.”

      “Negative, we’re blind, we don’t know what has happened, we’re all blind, come help us,” they answered desperately.

      Angel fell to his knees, helpless, and wept sorrowfully, not because of his blindness, but because he had not able to keep his promise. His tears were of rage and anger. His thoughts went back to the bank manager, forced to live the rest of his life stuck to a wheelchair. His romantic partner ever since they had met, many years ago. His long-awaited revenge for love was unresolved for the time being.

      Chapter 2

      The Author

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      Upon opening my eyes all I can see is darkness, rather, in other words, I cannot see a thing, either way I cannot keep them open, my eyelids are strangely sticky. I do not know what has happened, after the inexplicable brightness I have been left blind. I must acknowledge that I am nervous, scared, very alarmed, and at the same time anxious for some answers, to know and understand what has happened.

      I remain seated on my favorite sofa for a long time, hoping in vain for my poor eyes to work once again. I have my laptop burning over my lap. I have been bent over typing and tweaking the last chapter of my work, ignoring the elemental rules of ergonomics. I have been pressing the keys in a frenzy since very early in the morning. The early-rising muses that whispered incessantly into my ear had kept me awake. Ignoring my current new situation, I concentrated on my main worry, my novel. It had been more than an hour since I last saved the file and a terrible fear of losing my recent work invaded my tormented mind. After some endless minutes reflecting and considering infinite possibilities, I decided to leave the laptop on the cushion next to me, trusting that the battery would last enough for it to autosave.

      I can finally focus on myself. Conscious of my weakness, I need help, without a doubt. I listen intently to the sounds of the lonely house, the quiet murmur of the refrigerator engine, the rhythm of my breath, the soft ringing of new messages on my phone. My phone! It is not that far, I cannot remember exactly where, so I will just have to feel around as I can, right and left. Due to its smooth surface and small rectangular shape it is unquestionable that I have found it. Though now another problem emerges. My first thought is to call my wife, who is working at the moment as a French teacher. I change my mind, today is her first day in that elitist private school after months of unemployment. Considering our lack of a stable job, I thought it best to tell her after work. I ponder over the possibilities of my next step. Contacting an ambulance service could be a solution. Once I lifted my phone I noticed it was impossible to dial a number while blind. I remember that one of my best friends, an expert in technology, had told me how to activate and configure voice dialing days ago. Why did I not follow his advice? Anyway, I will keep my phone in my pocket.

      I need to pee. I stood up carefully and fearfully walked blindly with my protective arms in an horizontal position. The stab I received in my abdomen from the great dining table reminded me to move around very carefully. I cross through the doorway and press my hand on the hallway wall, following slowly as I take a few steps. The brush against one of the hanging paintings causes it to lose balance and I instinctively try to catch it. The result is disastrous. The corner of the frame falls on my fat toe, I shout out in pain, and the glass of the painting shatters to pieces upon landing on the floor. In just five minutes I have already had two accidents happen to me. If I do not liven up, this situation will not end well. I hear the crunch of the crystals under my slippers when I reach the closed door. I go into the narrow bathroom. Urinating on foot, as I usually do, does not seem like a good idea today, so I lower my pants and sit on the toilet. I usually wash my hands after this necessity, but, due to this situation, I should simplify my routines, though I may need a good washing of my eyes, they might improve miraculously. Half an hour of water over my face did not change my situation. I am still blind.

      I barely drank a lonely coffee when I woke up, so I am hungry now. Going to the nearby kitchen and preparing something to eat seems like an arduous mission. I weigh the pros and the cons, but the rumbling in my stomach convinces me in the end. I set my plan in motion. I resort to the mental map provided by my memory to help me make it to the kitchen, walking the stretch calmly, without hurry. I manage pretty well. I remember the spatial dispositions of the furniture and where I keep each thing. Of course, I am not complicating myself too much, a pair of muffins and a cold small juice in a cardboard package will be today’s menu, until my wife comes home.

      I make it back to the living room, lie down on the sofa, look for the television remote on the little table, and press a few buttons one by one until