Kylie awoke with an uncomfortable feeling on his face, particularly the bridge of his nose. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was only when he opened his eyes and realized that he was seeing everything in colorful blurs that he noticed that he didn't have his glasses on. But wait: he could've sword he'd been wearing them last night... What gives? he thought as he frantically waved his hands around the space in front of him. At last, he felt something familiar: a rather large, thick book, which he identified as his world history textbook. Then, he felt something else. Two things, actually. The remains of his glasses. Oh, no… please… not again!
They had been broken in half, snapped at the bridge. Somehow, the tape had come off and the two separate halves fell apart while he’d been sleeping. Thoroughly frustrated, he shoved the two pieces in his pockets and stood up to walk over to the door and search the place for tape or glue or some other adhesive. Instead of completing his simple objective, as soon as he took the first step, he fell flat on his face. As pain flared through his nose, cheekbones and forehead, he let out a groan of pain and frustration. Everything was so blurry and indistinguishable, it made his head hurt. Why couldn’t he see well like normal people? Everyone else in that godforsaken place could see perfectly damn fine! Why couldn’t he be like everyone else? No, he had to be as blind as a fucking bat! Fuck you, fate, he thought angrily. Fuck. You.
So, cautiosly, he rose to his feet and carefully, waving his hands out in front of him, eyes squeezed tightly shut (what use were they now?), tried to make his way to the door and at least get out of the room and ask around for some tape or glue or something. At once, he banged his bare foot into the bedpost. Tears sprang to his eyes and he gave out a little cry of pain. Some mornings, he just hated everything. Even himself. But especially other people.
So it was no surprise that when he finally exited his room (almost tripping over the threshold) and immediately hit the wall on the other side of the hallway, he freaked out and began swearing so bad a sailor would have winced. He kicked the wall for good measure, but it pained his uncovered foot as much as the small dent in the wall might’ve hurt the wall itself, had it been able to feel. But that was a stupid metaphor. Anyways, extremely, extremely frustrated, Ky pressed himself up against the wall and quietly shuffled down the hallway. He could hear voices coming from up ahead, but he was too focused on getting around to take the time to identify them. He bit his lip as he went along, almost afraid that he’d run into something.
At that moment, finally feeling confident that he knew the room well, he stepped away from the wall and tried to appear casual as he entered the room, the fragments of his glasses still stuffed in the pockets of his sweatshirt. He hated wearing his glasses in front of others, and often never moved when in their presence unless he really had too. He put on what he hoped was a casual smile.
“Has anyone seen any-“He ended up tripping over his own two feet and falling on his face again. He didn’t bother standing up, just rising from his flat position into a sitting one. “…Tape?” he grumbled despondently, not noticing his own face turn red.