A story in short.

Ian was a boy who never saw the sky. His sight was never physically impaired; ophthalmologists would remark that his vision was clear as air. Rather, Ian chose to never see the sky, nor the grass, nor the trees, and yet he could read every single letter he could see within a mile. He never saw his parents, nor his teachers, nor his fellow students; they were there, he acknowledged them, they acknowledged him, but he never saw them. This wasn’t strange to Ian, as it was how he had lived every year of his life. Everything passed in front of him, transitioning from one moment to the next before Ian had time to comprehend it, and then it ended. Nothing was real to Ian, and yet he knew nothing was fake, but he could never immerse himself into what he saw around him. It wasn’t unusual to him, and he thought nothing of it. He was dragged into adulthood while he tried to comprehend the moments of his childhood. The memories were there, and he was in them, and though he recalled that they happened largely without him, they still dug into his chest and nestled next to his heart. The moments of his adult life similarly came and went, and he never saw them. Ian trudged through those moments that ran by, only catching fleeting glimpses of what they were before they were gone. It got worse as he got older; the moments moved faster, and faster, and he trudged slower, and slower, until there were no more moments for him to see. As his breath shortened and his vision dimmed, Ian smiled and coughed out a hoarse chuckle. With his last breath, he finally spoke. “Clear as day.”

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