Bright Eyes (Wrong Turn X Reader)

Part I

I was born blind. Looking back on it now, that is probably why they spared me. I was a little girl living in the boonies of West Virginia and attending the private school of St. Isadora, an institution dedicated to children with learning disabilities, mental handicaps, and physically impairing abnormalities. The school was led by Mother Superior and only taught up to grade six, hiring nuns and specially trained women to teach classes, each one catered to groups of students with similar ailments and backgrounds.

The school used to be a shelter for immigrants, over a hundred years ago. For families who made it as far as West Virginia, they had shelter, food, and clothing waiting for them. The building welcomed donations and practiced discretion, their only goal being to help immigrants get started with their new lives in a new and strange country. St. Isadora's was very proud of their history. They made their past accomplishments part of the curriculum to spread the blessings of charity and good deeds.

My teacher, Ms. Sonya, was a descendant of one of these families. Her great-grandparents left Spain and faced the treacherous seas and a life in poverty just to start over. She often regaled us with tales that her parents used to tell her of their journey and how they struggled to make a living when they first arrived. "It all payed off eventually", she would always say. "Because of their bravery and hard work, they gave their children the best head start in life. Their retirement was filled with love, laughter, and the utmost respect. They never had to lift a finger. Nada". And so on, and so on.

I liked to hear her stories more than the other kids did because I could relate to them. From the moment I left the womb, my life was upside down. My mother, Deborah, died giving birth to me with a leather bible clutched in her hand. My father was heartbroken and though I never saw my reflection, I was reminded often how much I looked like her and how much pain it brought father. Instead of spending time with me, he left me to the care of my grandmother and frequented any joint that would keep him for the night. He refused to speak to me when he came home drunk as a skunk and sometimes, when he was feeling particularly truculent, he would grab my arm and force me down on the couch

"She didn't want you, you know", he would brood, releasing a loud and reeking belch. I would focus on the scratching of his nails against the denim of his overalls or the anxious tapping of his feet on the carpet, having heard this same accusatory narrative so many times before. "When she told me she was expecting, I took her down to church and had us married right then and there. Deb was a god-fearin' woman, sittin' in those pews from sunday to wednesday. As soon as she told her family of her sin, they wanted nothing to do with her. She thought you were her punishment for disobeying the lord. I was never no religious man, but seeing how much misery you brought your dear ol' mother, i began believing God had punished her for being with me".

"She spent those nine months on her knees, praying for forgiveness, reciting scriptures in the lord's name, singing in that damn church 'till she was hoarse. But it didn't matter. All she got were swollen feet, cramps that had her hollerin' and stuck in bedrest, and night terrors of a demon fetus growing in her belly. The future our child would bring, she would tell me, i couldn't even imagine the suffering". Despite being visually impaired, I had a colorful imagination that would run wild. The guilt and sadness I felt for my mother, seeing her suffering in my mind's eye and imagining the fear of birthing an unwanted child, was crippling. I blamed myself, which was my father's intent. I caused her to slip into madness and took her life in the end.

"The cryin' and screamin' I heard day and night and all that torment for a girl. I wanted a son. Can't do nothing with a cripple. You cant even do what your supposed to. Your granny has to do all the cooking and cleaning while you sit around all day doing nothing. Useless". Even if I wanted to, it would be useless to reason with him. When father was gone, I would assist granny Rhonda with the dishes and the housework. The loss of one sense heightened the others and I explored the world through touch, hearing, and scent, helping me to live life as ordinarily as I could. I could clean my own room, make my own bed, dry and put away the dishes, and set the table for dinner. But all this went unacknowledged.