troy

this is a four-part short story i wrote at university. content warning for graphic violence.

I told myself I couldn’t have possibly known that this could’ve happened, but I still wouldn’t forgive myself for it. No-one understood what it was, or saw it coming, but every precaution was necessary, and even as I lay screaming in labour, I had only one thought. Keep your eyes shut. Do not open your eyes. Even if you think you’re still wearing the blindfold, do not open your eyes. Not even for a second. If you do, you’re dead within minutes. We didn’t know why it happened, or even what it really was. All we knew was it was something in the air, that we couldn’t see or taste, but it got into the body through open eyes, so for the last two weeks we’d been forced to keep ourselves blind. There’d been no help from the outside. We were stumbling around in the dark, figuratively and literally. 

Bringing a child into this world was scary. Foolish, even. I could feel blind eyes bearing down on me when I walked through the house, judging my decisions; even in this little sanctuary we’d had to lock ourselves in, all opinions were poisonous. We were desperate enough without worrying about another mouth to feed coming along. Food was ridiculously low. We had no promise of electricity for any amount of time, and never any more knowledge of what was happening. No-one told us anything from the outside. TV signal was gone, and the only thing on the radio was someone who knew no more, if not less, than us.

“Keep going. You’re doing so well. Keep pushing, Siobhan.”

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I grabbed it from reflex, nearly breaking her fingers. My body sung in pain. I ground myself into the corduroy sofa, feeling the threads of it tattoo themselves onto my back. Push, breathe, push, scream, breathe, push.

A scream, but not my own. Overlapping voices around me.

“Put a blindfold on him. Quickly, give me something. A towel, a bandana, anything. Quickly! Don’t let him open his eyes.”

I let my head rest back awkwardly, in any attempt to take the weight off of my neck. I let myself relax for what felt like a second, but must’ve been more.

“Siobhan, hold out your arms. This is your son.”

I’d never held a baby before. This was my child. My son. I wasn’t as exhilarated as I used to think I would be - it might’ve been my dream at one point, but now my child was in a living nightmare. I took the wrap of towels and cloth, and held him close to my face, finding his cheek with my lips.

“Welcome to the world, Troy. I’m so sorry.”

Everything was ready. A canopy of blankets and towels separated the makeshift surgery from the rest of the room. Inside the canopy, a small table took centre stage, with a blanket draped over it. I held Troy in one arm, with him clinging onto my shoulder, facing the table. He’d quietened suddenly, like he could predict what was about to happen. I was nearly numb to his silence. The blood rushing in my ears was loud enough.

Feeling my way forward, I pushed a blanket aside and slipped through, stepping tentatively forward for the final time. I set Troy onto the table softly, supporting his head as I lowered him, and making sure there was nothing under him. I felt around a little more, letting my fingers explore what was on the table. I could feel a glass bottle with a liquid in it, a small knife, a pair of tweezers, four small ties, and a pack of tissues. It was enough. I knew I wouldn’t have much time once I started, so I arranged the items around to me so that if I naturally went to grab something, I knew where it was.

I took the ties from the table, and tied Troy’s wrists and ankles to the table legs. He needed to be still. If I slipped, or if he recoiled in the wrong moment, he’d be dead within seconds.

I rehearsed what I was about to do in my head. I couldn’t let emotions get in the way. This wasn’t for valiance, or to make a pretty story. This was far too real to be that.

I was giving my life to make sure Troy couldn’t die the same way.

I poured some of the liquid out into one of the tissues, and cleaned the knife thoroughly. From the smell, I guessed it was vodka, and I offhandedly thanked myself for using it for a good cause, instead of letting Dylan drink it. After I’d finished, I discarded the tissue, took a deep breathe, and with the knife in hand, lifted my blindfold off.

I barely let my eyes adjust to what was around me - I made sure I knew where everything was so I didn’t have to. It also meant that I didn’t have a chance to look at Troy properly. I couldn’t risk stopping to look at him. I knew I only had minutes, if that, and I needed to be quick if this was going to be worth it.

I lifted Troy’s blindfold above one eye, as he began to cry. It threw me. I was now looking at my crying son’s eyes for the first time, and I couldn’t help but well up myself. I was human. I wasn’t designed to look at my own crying child and not feel anything, even if I was staring death in the face. His eyes were beautiful, too; a similar shade of green to mine but with flecks of grey closer to the iris. They looked as newborn as he was. The world hadn’t tainted them.

“I’m so sorry, Troy. You’ll understand later. I promise.”

Tears fell from my eyes onto his face. Blinking furiously, I delicately pushed the knife behind his eyeball, and pushed up, cutting it in half from behind and cutting the vessels holding it inside his skull. Troy screamed, and my blood curdled. I fought my body to stop my fist clenching around his face, and took the limp eyeball from its socket as quickly as possible, making sure I didn’t split it any more than I had already. I wrapped the knife in tissue and replaced Troy’s blindfold, as delicate as I could through trembling fingers. 

I needed to breathe - I needed to internalise what I’d done - but I had no time. I didn’t know how long I had left. I could breathe when I was dead. Troy writhed against his restraints, his shrieks piercing my ears. I’d save him. It’d be the last thing I did.

“I know it hurts. I’m so sorry. I love you. You’ll understand.”

I cleaned the knife quickly, and repeated the procedure on Troy’s other eye. As I pushed the knife through, taking his sight completely, his screams dimmed slightly, but his squirming doubled, and it became harder and harder to hold his head still. A sudden burst of strength ripped through him, and he wriggled his head free, catching the knife with his cheek, cutting deeply.

As soon as the knife was out, I bandaged Troy’s eyes and face as briskly as I could. As I knotted the cloth behind his head, I could feel my vision souring, like cream that’d been left in the sun. My brain felt like it was engulfed in flames. I staggered out of the canopy, but tripped on a hanging blanket and fell hard, my neck landing awkwardly against the wall. I lay, slumped, my head facing the surgery, eyes becoming ever foggier, all moisture in my mouth evaporating.

“So this is what it feels like,” I said to myself.

My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and as everything I could see faded away, I heard the door swing open.

“Siobhan? Siobhan!”

Black.

Most of my time was spent sat on my bedroom floor these days. It was safer. Even though I’d been blind for as long as I could remember, I was still unsteady on my feet, and I was far more comfortable sitting down, thinking, singing to myself.

At least I always had company, even though when my father came in to see me - on the rare occasions he did - they never seemed to speak, or move. I took that as reasoning as to why he never came to see me. I didn’t question it, either. I was happy enough in my bedroom, with my friends.

“It’s freezing in here, Troy.”

“Sorry, Barbie. I’ll put the heater on. You’re always cold though, aren’t you?”

Barbie scoffed. “It’s this damn country. Always cold. You’re fine, you’ve always got something covering your face.”

Buzz piped up from another corner of the room. “Yeah, Troy, you can’t exactly crucify us for being cold.”

“Buzz, you could always put more clothes on.” 

“I’m wrapped in a blanket already. What more do you want from me?”

I groaned. “Okay, fine. But you’re going to have to remind me which way I’m facing.”

“Heater switch is at your seven o’clock,” Buzz replied.

I got to my feet steadily, and moved hesitantly towards the back wall, arms outstretched until my hands rested on it.

“Left hand, up about two inches and to the left slightly.”

“Got it.” I flicked the thermostat up, turned round, and sank down the wall so I was leaning back at it, with my knees tucked under my chin.

“Troy, can I ask you something?” Thomas asked from the bed.

“You just did, Thomas.”

“Sarcastic git. I was going to ask; how much do you remember about being able to see? I bet you miss it?”

I sighed, and swilled my tongue around my mouth. “I don’t remember it, really. Whatever happened to me, must’ve happened when I was really young. Or maybe it was a birth defect or something.

“I don’t think it was a birth defect…” Barbie trailed off. The others hushed her.“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Barbie started. “It’s the scars.”

“The what?”

“Troy, you must’ve noticed by now. The scars, under your bandana, near where your eyes should be.”

“I thought everyone had that. I don’t know what anyone looks like, Barbie. I could only ever do it through touch, and none of you have ever let me touch your faces.”

Tom coughed. “We just didn’t want to upset you, Troy. We didn’t want to make you feel as estranged.”

“By not letting me touch you? By you not telling me what happened to me?”

Barb spoke softly, and her voice neared me as she spoke. “But would you actually want to know what happened?”

I laughed through my teeth. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Barb spoke from my left. “We don’t know, exactly, what happened to you. You came to this house blind. But we’ve… we’ve looked under your bandana.” Barbie sounded choked.

“Barb, what the hell are you doing?” Buzz barked.

“He deserves to know, Buzz! He just does! Imagine if you didn’t know where you came from. Imagine if you didn’t know anything about yourself. Imagine how lonely you’d feel.”

“Then I’d trust that my friends would tell me if I should know. Troy doesn’t need to know what we think happened. He can ask his father in his own time.”

I tensed. “My father knows? He always said he didn’t know. He always said that it was just how I was.”

“I think he lied, Troy. I’m so sorry,” Barbie said, gently.

Something clicked in my head. Sorry. Sorry. So sorry. Why? “Why do I remember someone else saying that?”

“Saying what?” Buzz asked.

“I remember someone saying that. A woman. I remember a woman saying, ‘I’m so sorry.’ Why? Who was she?”

“You know who it was, Troy,” Barbie pushed.

I put my head in my hands. This was too much. I did know. “It was my mother, wasn’t it.”

“I can’t imagine how this feels, Troy.”

“Don’t apologise, Barbie. I just wish I knew why she did it.”

“Why do you think she did it? I don’t want to push you. I just want to know what you think. You know more than us. You at least met your mother. You must have.”

I sniffed. “Yeah. I must have. Maybe she had to do it-”

Tom cut in. “Maybe your father made her do it.”

“What do you mean, Thomas?” I asked, hesitantly.

“I’ve heard your father talk when you’re asleep, about how he’s thankful you can’t see. I don’t know who he was talking with. I couldn’t leave the room.”

“Why do none of you ever leave my room?” I asked.

“Do you think your father forced your mother to hurt you, Troy?” Buzz asked.

“I don’t know what I think anymore,” I answered, resigned.

“I think you should confront him, Troy. You know more now than before, and you want answers, and you deserve answers, and you should force him to tell you the truth. And you’ll know if it’s the truth or not by how you feel about it. If it feels wrong, he’s lying. What do you think?”

“Okay.” I took in a deep breathe. “I’ll ask him.”

It was days before my father came to pay me a visit, which gave me days to brew my thoughts in my head; to figure out what I was going to say to him. I trusted my friends. They wouldn’t put these ideas in my head if they weren’t considered and logical, and to me, they seemed just that.

I’d lead with anger. I considered being calm and reasonable, but if it was true - if my father had forced my mother into removing my eyes - then he didn’t deserve logical.

When he did finally knock, I stood up. He wouldn’t expect that. I always stayed on the floor when he came in. I coughed, and cleared my throat.

“Come in.”

I heard the door open, and my father began speaking as soon as the door was open, walking towards me as I spoke.

“I heard voices again earlier. Are you talking to yourself again?”

“Enough of your questions.”

“What?” He sounded taken aback. “What did you just say?”

“I want answers.”

“Answers?” He sounded perplexed, like he wasn’t used to speaking to anyone like this, let alone me.

“Yes. I want answers. I want to know why I’m blind.”

“I- Why do you want to know that?”

“Does that matter? It’s my life. I want to know. I demand an answer. I’ve been blind since birth. Why?”

“It… It was a birth defect. You’ve been blind ever since you were born.”

“No. You’re lying,” I said defiantly.

“Why would you say that?”

“My mother took my eyes. You made her do it, didn’t you.”

“Troy, how-“

“Didn’t you.” I didn’t let him finish. I was too angry to care what he said. I knew the truth. Buzz was right. It didn’t sit right. I knew it wasn’t a birth defect. He made her do it.

“Of course I didn’t.”

“Liar!” I screamed, and threw a blind punch towards his voice. I connected with something, but I didn’t know where. It felt like his nose.

I heard my father stagger backwards, and crash into something in the room. “You made her do it. You made her take my eyes. You made me like this. Why?”

“Listen to me, you little shit.” He was close to me now. I could feel his breathe on my face; it was wet, and smelled of alcohol. “I had nothing to do with what your mother did to you. And besides, she did it to protect you.”

“How the fuck is taking my eyes protecting me? How can you take that standpoint?” I thrust my forehead towards his face, catching his teeth. “How dare you protect what she did to me.” I surged forwards, pushing him backwards, feeling for his throat, and strangling him tightly. He was shorter than I thought he would be. I pushed as I squeezed, forcing him backwards, until we hit a jolt. I heard a huge clang as the back of my father’s head collided with something metal. I stopped, suddenly, still with my hands around his throat. I felt a warm liquid near-immediately cover my hands, and I retched, backing away. I fell backwards and landed, sitting down, on the carpet I recognised.

“Oh god. What have I done?”

Buzz’s voice came from behind me. “Thank you, Troy. We needed you. We weren’t enough to stop him without you.”

I sobbed. “Buzz, what are you talking about?”

“We’re just toys after all. We’re not nearly big enough to kill someone.”