He shushes her gently, running his fingers softly across her shoulder. He could feel the tenseness, her muscles straining but then relaxing ever so slightly as he soothed her. He smiles, pleased with his calming touch.

Turning from her, he moves a few steps to the side where his cart awaits him. It is a battered metal cart, rusty, bruised, the bottom shelf barely clinging to the remainder of its moorings. He doesn't need the bottom shelf though. Everything he needs, the small opened glass jar, only a quarter filled with a clear, salty looking liquid and beside it, his needle and cloth rested on the dented top shelf. He takes the handle and tugs, the cart immediately clanking forward - one wheel needs to be oiled - and drags it forward.

Immediately, she begins murmuring in a low, muffled tone. There is no true sense of urgency though; the sounds of defeat already blanket what noises manage to pass through the cloth rag pushed deeply into her mouth. He places the cart beside the table, where she is currently bound, one limb lashed to each table leg. He places a hand back on her shoulder, rubbing it gently, feeling the tenseness ebb from her body. This would be so much more painful if he didn't possess such a soothing touch.

Satisfied she was still enough, he leans over her, staring down into her wide open eyes. They are beautiful. A hazel grey. The color of the sky after a morning rain. And they stare past him, unseeing. They are wide open though, just how he needs them. Reaching back with one hand he takes hold of the needle, the other hand stretches toward her face, pressing down at the bottom of her left eyelid, holding it, pinning it open. She groans audibly below him, but holds so perfectly still. She has learned.

Then, placing the end of the needle right below her eyelid, being so careful not to push into the delicate eye itself, he pulls the top of the needle back, stretching it open. The tears, unable to resist the suction, slide effortlessly into the tube of the needle but don't quite fill it. She lets out a restrained, long but low whimper as her wide eyes flicker from left to right, the only motion across her face. He smiles at her purr, bringing the needle back, draining it into the mostly empty jar, listening to the tears drip down with gentle plips and plops. Turning back, he does the same to her right eye, getting about the same amount of moisture, and just as pleasing of a sound from her. He drains the tears and places the needle gently down beside the jar, onto the outstretched cloth. Pleased, he leans forward, kissing her forehead tenderly.

"Just a little more my dear." He whispers so softly before turning, pushing his clattering cart away from her. "And you'll cry your blindness away."

Copyright 2003 Harry Raden

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