One Eye Blinking Slower Than The Other Novels & Stories

"Connor I am afraid your right eye will never get better, but it shouldn't be a problem to function with one eye" Amelia hadn't noticed before, but when he turned his face she saw that the right eye kind of didn't follow the motion, it didn't focus and the pupil didn't react to the change of light. "Well I guess that isn't too bad, luckily it is only one eye". He sighed and shrugged and she smiled reassuringly at him. The doctor continued. "Your reflexes in your legs aren't quite good enough, but there is a reaction, so they are working. My experience tells me that with time and training you will most likely walk again, maybe even without any problems".

Fiona said. “Yes, baby,” my mother said. “I’m real.” Fiona looked at her for another moment. Then something shifted behind her eyes, like a flicker. Her blink was too slow. And when her eyes opened again, just for one half second, the edges of her irises had gone pale. Not fully white like before. Just pale enough that I noticed. It lasted less than a second, and then it was gone. But I had seen it. I took one quiet step forward.

The blurry look of both eyes greeted me unceremoniously. Remembering how tightly I had closed my eyelids earlier there. I instantly blinked my eyelids a few times in a fairly quick motion. Trying to get rid of the blurry vision in my eyes now. Until not long after, the vision of my two eyes now completely became clear, and I began to look right at the reflection of myself right there in the mirror now. "No... no... this is impossible."

The photo of her father having a genuine smile while looking at the trees will always be the best image Adeline will have as his remembrance. "Huh?" She suddenly became distracted after accidentally noticing her left eye getting blurry. She gently wiped it with her hand, but she got confused with what was suddenly happening to her eyes. Adeline seemed to have her eye getting irritated after noticing how imbalanced the color she saw was. But since she wasn't sure of what’s happening, she thought of something else. She tried to cover up her right eye with her right hand while her left eye remained uncovered. It confused her to see no colors other than the two: black and white.

Aerona felt her eye balls heavy. It more seemed as though they had some muscle failure. She felt sluggish to open them, as she rather preferred to have them closed. But she had to open them, as she tried in lifting her eyes balls out of her closed eye lids. Having to adjust to the ambiance of the room caused her muscles some pain, and so her lids flickered as she robbed her eyes continuously, probably this was going to help her lens settle more probably on the ambiance.

“Very slowly. Don’t rush it. Just take your time.” I listen to his advice, nod, and do exactly that. I don’t rush or start blinking rapidly. I just slowly open my eyes wider. Nothing. I blink. Still nothing. Panic rises in my chest. I blink again. That’s when the darkness finally gives way to something blurry and hazy. My chest rises sharply as a shaky breath leaves my lips. Tears instantly gather in my eyes, making everything even more unclear. “I...” My voice cracks. “I...”

One more glance and those eyes closed. Slowly.

Everything. My face glows a soft, warm color of life. My eyes are no longer bloodshot. But they are different. I stutter out a soft sigh as I slowly blink. Slowly, and even more slowly, I blink my left eye. It is a shade of complete, absolute silver. Even the iris, which had once glittered a gentle amber, has lost all its color. It now looks like the ashen background of a graveyard. Almost like a lie, my other eye stares back at me, with the tenderness of fresh, sweet honey.

So, I stayed. Hour four was the hardest. The urge to blink became a form of torture. My eyes felt like they were filled with hot sand. I learned to "micro-blink"—closing one eye while keeping the other fixed on the glass, then switching. It was a rhythmic, exhausting dance. Every time I slipped, even for a second, I would see its fingers curl over the edge of the medicine cabinet, or see its torso lean out of the frame like a man stepping through a window.

🦪 DALE LAZARUS 🦪 Footsteps move closer to me, and I slam my eyes shut, still trying to figure out my exact location or trace the voice to the owner. One thing is for sure: there is indeed a stutter in my brain. “You ever wonder why your room clock skips five minutes every time you blink? Or why does people’s voice sound like it’s coming from under the swimming pool? It’s not the adrenaline,” the voice continues, and I heighten my senses.