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The eyepatch over my right eye prevents me from seeing anything with it. There is a little streak of light bouncing of the side of my shiny nose where the bandage didn't completely seal the light out. What I see is garishly neon, and scattered about as if it needed my old way of looking at things to make sense of things. What I see in that garish, hot pink light with cobalt blues providing depth and perspective is not to die for. It's scary. What if the operation failed?
That must have been what to have been born with so little consciousness. I barely had any consciousness to cope with a cruel world if the old myths hold scandalous secrets. I was born when the Moon was making it's first shimmering appearance after it's monthly "dark night of the soul". The crescent moon, and hardly even that. That's not much consciousness to work with compared with people who were born near the full moon. It's sorta like I only see life through a small keyhole. That's all the "truth" I have to make sense of what is out there.
The surgeon may take the bandage off and look horrified that he'd made such a gross, irreparable mistake. I was warned about whot not to do like stooping or bending over. Like doing anything that might put stress on my eye and tear the sutures out. Seven stitches. Why? It was reputed to be a "one-stitch" operation. Seven stitches can't bode well. They must have made a mistake and then tried to cover it up. I'll never see a well as I did again. What a drag, man. "Life's a bitch, and then you die."
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