Creative Writing by Amanda Tien

When I considered the very real troubles of the world, near and far, I felt guilty for being sad over something as simple and precious to me as my vision. The fear of a forever night eclipsed every day.

In spring, the town unravels itself in the newly remembered sun. The farmers’ markets swell. They take over the town square twice a week, even in the rain. With the discipline of an ant colony, every cart takes its time-honored place on the cobblestoned expanse.

“You just pull its head open like this, and then you can suck its brains out.”

I died a little inside that day.