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Squeezing my fingers tightly so my nails are digging into my skin, I force myself to focus on the paper in front of me.
I stare at the blank page for a heartbeat before I finally take a pen and press it against the paper. Black ink dips into the white page, completely in tune with my dark mood.
I try to empty my mind and justwrite, focusing on the feelings brewing inside of me instead of the thoughts wreaking havoc in my head.
From the corner of my eye, I see the glass appear in my line of sight. For a split second, I think I see a reflection of amber. My palms turn sweaty, and I have to squeeze the pen so it doesn’t slip from my fingers.
I blink, the glass touching the table. Dark brown, not amber, liquid inside.
Get a grip, dude.
Shaking my head, I mutter a “thanks” before turning my attention back to my notebook once again.
I’m not sure how long I’m at it. I write only to cross the lines out before I finish them, ripping the papers out and tossing them to the side before I start again. The sound of shattering glass somewhere snaps me out of my head.
I blink a few times, the bar coming into focus—music is playing in the background, and people are talking and laughing.
My gaze falls on the words written on the paper.
Falling deeper into an empty well,
The stone walls surrounding me,
The prison cage
Looking up, no way to see,
The monsters waiting for me
In the darkness that creeps
Like the raging enemy…
Cursing, I scribble out the lines before I rip the page out of the notebook and squeeze it into a ball, tossing it on the other side of the table, but of course, the damn thing falls on the floor instead just as the waitress passes by.
She gives me a weary smile, crouching down and lifting up the crumpled sheet. “Here. You dropped this.”
Great, just great. So much for keeping a low profile.
“Thanks,” I mutter. Taking the ball, I smooth it out and slip it into my notebook before my attention shifts to the food in her hand. She places the burger on the table before walking away. I grab one fry and toss it into my mouth, my gaze falling on Penelope’s book. Grabbing the burger in one hand, I pull out my phone and open a search browser.
Language for blind people.
Yes, I’m that much of an ignorant asshole; sue me. I don’t know a better way to look it up. If I did, I wouldn’t need to search it in the first place.
The results appear on my screen almost instantly.
Braille.
I click on the first link that pops on the screen, looking up more info on braille, which isn’t a language but a tactile reading and writing system. Which, I guess, makes more sense when you think about it. And not only is it a writing system, but it also includes musical notation.
Interest peaked. I read the history of braille as I finish my burger, wiping my hands on the napkin once I’m done. Pushing my plate to the side, I open Birdy’s book and pull out the piece of paper that was inside, along with my notebook. Ignoring all the unfinished lyrics, I turn to a new page and grab a pen. The image of the braille alphabet is open on my phone, the light from the screen illuminating the paper underneath it, giving me just enough visibility to get to work.
I look at one sign at a time, comparing it to the alphabet, before writing the letter down in my notebook. Once I’m done with the first line, I look down at the words written on the page.
Penelope’s bucket list
Well, I’ll be damned.
