The Four Hour Countdown: A Short Story

Let’s just imagine that I’m setting at home in my favorite recliner and, with the snap of a finger, become totally blind. I know from reading the assignment that upon the onset of my newfound disability, the four hour countdown has begun. This knowledge is only mildly comforting. After all, what could go wrong? I am safely within the confines of my own home. Too say the least, a place that I am very familiar with. I have stumbled around here many times in total darkness heading to bed or searching for the light switch. This should be no more difficult than a childhood game of blind-man’s bluff.
My four hour trial has officially began. This isn’t so bad. I do have to say though, total darkness is very different than being in a dimly lit room.
Other than the comforting caress of my recliner I only have a visual picture in my mind of what the world was like. As I sit and wonder at my new predicament I begin to notice other things. I first hear the familiar click-clack of my dog’s nails as she walks across the hardwood floors. Her steps are coming closer and closer until finally I feel the cold wet of her nose nudging my elbow wanting a rub. The next noise I hear is the heat pump kicking on in the basement, followed by a warmth of air coming from the vent below hitting my right arm. The next sound I heard was a little harder to discern. It was a mechanical noise coming from the kitchen. The sound was not loud, but it was very plain. I sounded as if gears were running. Then, as sound of ice cubes falling to the bottom of the bin resonated, it dawned on me that I was hearing the beginning of the icemaker cycle.
I decided that sitting in my chair for the duration would not give justice to the experience, so I thought I would get up and navigate about the house.
Standing up with two fingers dragging on the arm of the recliner, I carefully move toward the kitchen. One step from my chair, I stab in the dark with my other hand searching for the back of the couch. This was pretty common practice after a late night of watching TV, but this time was different. I could no longer see the flashing 12:00 from the microwave. The coffee maker on the end of the counter was not there. My eyes never adjusted to see the hue of the streetlight coming in the window. I was like a ship with no light house. There was nothing to mark my way or to judge distance by. I tried to estimate the number of steps that it might be to reach the doorway to my bedroom. It had to be at least eight. About halfway through step six this theory was shot out the window as my outstretched hand rammed into the door facing. Three more step and I should reach the corner bedpost and have the security of my bed to finish this trial. As I stepped through the doorway I was leaning forward with my right hand about waste level waving side to side in search of the big wooden knob of the bedpost. The next step would be one that I dearly regretted. In the visual image painted in my mind I did not realize that the dresser protruded so far into the center of the room. My left pinky toe made a popping noise as the pain reverberated
throughout my body. Falling toward the center of the room, I find the safe haven of the bed and wait for the challenge to be over.