I’ve been blind since birth. I know it’s a cliche when they say blind people can see things the seeing cannot, but it’s true. When you are unfettered with the blessing of sight the other senses are heightened. I can *see* our house in my mind using touch, sound and smell.

My mother, she was rose scented and had a voice so soft she could talk people to sleep. My dad, smelled of cigars and had a gruff tongue that could light matches. Both so unique to me; my sisters just know them as mum and dad.

“Kids, I’m home,” my father shouted as the door flew open.

“Where’s mum?” My sister asked.

“Oh, she is staying at her aunt’s house for the weekend, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied.

I sat in my chair and gripped the handles.

I heard his heavy shoes approach me.

I smelt an unfamiliar odour, that of rot and death. His breath overwhelmed me.

“You okay, son?” He asked.

“Yes, dad,” I said, wondering if my parents were still alive.

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