The doctors said this day would never come. She gave up hope three years ago, but her family was still pursuing her lost dreams. It’s been three years since the accident; the accident that crippled her for life, changed her views on the world, and stole her eyesight. Her friends always proclaimed, “It’s going to be okay,” or “It gets better,” but what did they know? Nobody could ever understand the awful loneliness accompanied by the pitch black.

She heard her father cry that night, but she would die before ever witnessing it. Her mother hugged, kissed, and expressed her good fortune that her only daughter was safe and alive. But dying would surely be better than the darkness she was surrounded in now.

For a year, she refused to leave the house, for the world was not the exciting, optimistic place it once was. She could no longer gaze out of her bedroom window upon the night sky’s bright stars. The stars were what gave her hope, when all felt forlorn. Her one small token of happiness had vanished. The world, along with everything else, had stolen her stars.
She was forced to spend the next years of her life relearning how to live. They presented her with a cane and she begrudgingly studied braille, with hopes that would make everything better again; like her bright personality and happy persona would appear once more after receiving these so-called “gifts.” As if those would help her forget about living in a world not filled with darkness and despair. And right when she was about to cave into the depressing abyss, her doctors informed her of an “experimental procedure” they wished to attempt.
For weeks she prepared for the surgery day to arrive and for days she pondered what would happen if it worked. Or worse, what would happen if it did not work. The morning had come as quickly as it had gone and she was entering the hospital to begin the experiment. Her mother and father kissed her forehead goodbye and whispered, “We’ll be here the whole time.” And with one heartfelt hug, she dozed off into a comatose of sleep.
What seemed to be seconds later, she awoke to soft, restrictive bandages strapped over her eye lids. She was instructed to not open her throbbing eyes, for it was not yet time. Questions immediately formed in her head to interrogate the doctor with. “Did it work?” “Will I see again?” “How much longer until I can finally see the stars?” But nothing escaped her mouth; she was too frightened to receive the answers she so desperately needed.
Footsteps were heard as the doctor strutted into her room, accompanied by the four familiar shuffles of her parent’s feet. Yet, something did not feel right. There was an odd air of tension in the room and a silence which finally broke with the penetrating sound of her mother’s sobs. “It’s my deepest regret to inform you the procedure did not work. You will never see again,” the doctor muttered in a monotone before rushing off to deal with his patients who could actually be cured.
Her parents sprinted to her bedside, asking what they could possibly do to help. But she was no longer present in that hospital room, she was no longer aware of her parent’s hugs and cries, she was alone once more in the emptiness. She pondered life’s questions of, “Why did this happen to me?,” and wallowed in self-pity just as she did the night of the accident, although something was different; she no longer felt the familiar sensation of tears dripping down her cheeks or a deep depression clouding her thoughts.
For three years after the accident, she’d been patiently waiting for the day she could see again, but now she knew she will never again open her eyes to anything but black. And just as she was about to lose hope and cave in to the abyss once more, she pictured a starry night and forced the image to remain there. The memories of the night sky were forever engraved in her brain and could never be forgotten or taken away. She did not require her eyes to see, all that was needed was the visions in her mind. Finally, she accepted the eternal dark which was now as comforting as the night sky, for she could finally see the stars.