prompt 32

The blindfold is too tight, wrapped around your skull like a headache, knotted with a vicious tug, pressing against your eyes. Hands grab you by the arms and make you walk, stumble, tripping over ancient floorboards plastered with dust and the occasional rusty, loosened nail that threatens to rip open the already-scarred and scabbed-over skin of your bare feet. An abrupt halt, and somewhere in front of you a door is kicked open. You've barely registered the sudden light when the hands violently pitch you forwards without warning. Ejected like a defective product of the machine.

There's still the instinct to stick out your arms to break the fall. But there's also still the straitjacket that locks your arms to your body, that's been constricting your breathing and your movement for the past hell-knows-how-many days.

So you just fall, making sure to twist and curl so you land on your side, relatively unscathed.

The ground is hard, cold, cracked tiles that are now as familiar as the dull ache in your shoulders and the numbness in your arms. You can tell now that the light isn't from outside, isn't from that thing hanging in the sky whose name was once spoken outside of fairy tales and urban legends steeped in black humour and disbelief. This is the same harsh, heat-less light from fluorescent bars that has lit your world for as long as you can remember.

The voices, though, are different.




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http://www.creativewritingprompts.com/#
The prompt was "You're in a room full of people and you're the only blind person there. Describe the room and the people in your mind." (...yes yes major mutation of prompt)