Thursday, September 6, 2012

Vision Quest

She’d been the most constant, enduring presence in his life. He loved her above all else or had until she opposed his single abiding dream…to see. The ocular implant trial offered the promise of a world no longer filled with unseen hazards and perplexing mysteries.

He felt, of all people, she’d understand and, thus, could scarce understand her vehement objections. It would be unnatural…in opposition to God’s will, she maintained. If, she insisted, he pursued this, she’d not be there when he returned.

He’d lost his temper, stormed out on her but was back, now, to set things right. It took him little time to realize she’d made good on her promise. The absence of the sound, the scent, the feel of her told him long before his implants confirmed it.

All that remained was a note and a picture. With trembling hands, he read:

Did you never wonder in all the years why I never let you “see” my face with your hands? The photograph will explain why and why you will never see me with your wondrous new eyes.
Yours once but never now

The woman in the photo might have been pretty enough had she been born with ears and a nose. To some, she must seem a freakish monster, but to him? No, never to him.

He stood for a very long time and he just stared out the window, convinced, with vision, it would be so much easier to find her and bring her home.


This story was written for the weekly Thursday Threads flash fiction challenge for the prompt: He just stared out the window.

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