Personal Narrative: I am Blind Essay -- essays research papers

I am blind. But I was non always blind. I once experienced the majesty of a sunrise in late August and the awe of the deep blue sea as the sun glistens from it. at a time I have only my memories to comfort me. So they sent me here, a field trip, a good experience they say, to help me cope. They sent me to a indifferent(p) school for the day, unk presentlying of how awkward it is for me. They gave me a buddy, scarce for what? We can?t communicate through speech or sign language. ? You?ll figure it out,? they say. So now I sit here, alone and desolate in darkness, hoping for the occasional memory to write upon the blank screen of my vision and bring life to this seemingly utter place.And so I sit. The chair is hard and cold as stone, like a cement chair in a jail cell. It is firm, but not strong, it squeaks and wobbles around like a fish out of water. I reach down to make sure all four legs are there. Yes, there?s four, four cold smooth spears symbolizing my demise. Spears ready to leap forward and devour me if I make the slightest wrong or sudden move. I profane out my arms, trying to find my surroundings. To the left, nothing but air. To the right, another spear, but not like the others this spears lies on its side like the rails in my bathroom. My get to follows the cold rod. It hits something leaving a sting and cracking my thumb as it crushes against my hand. This must be the desk. I glide my hand along the smooth bulge out felling all the little bumps of eraser left behind. I feel along the sides and touch the rigid edges where pens have been dug in deep like sharp wounds boastful the desk a unique personality. As my fingertips reach the center, I realize just how close the desk is, only about five inches away from my rapidly beatin... ... down the entrance hall and I encounter a revelation of thought. We are going outside. I run faster now and burst through the front doors into the great heaven. I can smell fresh cut gras s on the horizon and the soft warm rays of the sun finally beam down on my face. I breath the fresh cool air and listen. My bird has come back again and sings over the crackling flames and sirens of the trucks. It sings because it is free, it sings a victory praise for me because now I am free. I sit down on the wet grass and what I understand to be my buddy takes my hand. On my hand she spells out twain letters. Two letters that say everything. She spells out ?O? ?K? and I cry because I know that no matter what happens or how much I have to suffer, in the end it?s okay because I am alive and I am free. So I am still blind, but now I am blind and loving it