The sky that day is as tasteless as clear water, to be specific, the fog that day almost grow against the window. When she puts her hand on the glass, she can almost feel the ice particles slowly forming on her palm. This window has nothing but the tactile content, the vision from there has all disappeared. The window seems to be dysfunctioned, turned into a white cloth without a single fold on it. On the ground, this kind of fog would have allowed her to see across the road, but this is on the sixteenth floor, she is as lost as a little chia seed soaked in olive oil.
​
​
She sees a woman's face floating on the reflection of the window. She has seen this face many times. The woman's facial features are very stretched, like pressing a palm on a soft plastic comb, and the comb teeth blossom on it. The woman gives her left hand to her, she sees, but her vision is incomplete, perhaps obscured by a moth, she can't see the woman’s little finger. It suddenly occurred to her that she could once see two trees from the window in the front. One tree’s barks are as rough as sandpaper, and the other's branches are as textured as a shell surface. She used to be so familiar with those two trees, they were like the extension of her legs. Now, just like the little vision she loses, the trees are oil-sealed in the fog, she can’t find it anymore.
​
​
Anyways, she successfully catches the hand passed on to her. In order to check fundus disease, she had her pupils dilated 20 minutes ago. If the sun is shining, the dilation will cause her eyes to shrink in fear like a sour peach, then she will not see. Today is foggy, however, the room is too dark, so she can't see as well. So she chooses to close her eyes, that hand will guide her. No one speaks, the woman leads her down twelve steps, turns around, and goes down another twelve steps. She rubs the hand that was guiding her lightly. The edges of her nails are sharp and the nail surfaces are uneven. She speculated that the woman painted her nails. In the dark, only the texture on the hand is distinct. Now her hands are her eyes, and her touch is her entire vision. She walks like holding a small lantern. After a while, she focuses on her feet, and she finds that the carpet disappeared under her feet at some point, and now is the cold wooden floor. It feels like walking into a cold tide, and it become colder as she walked. She did not know how long the cold will last.
​
​
In the darkness, she thinks about how her eyes are like placentas, and the white inside her eyes is like an unstable fish roe, or a chicken egg. If crack an egg on a plate, the white umbilical cord will be like the floaters in her eyes. If she could really filter her eye jelly, if she could really smear her crystalline lens on a plate and use tweezers to pick up the haunted impurities, that's what the result would be. An umbilical cord, a translucent tissue suspends in mucus, a thin rag. She will rubbed it between her fingers, the texture of this thing is no different from tremella
​
​
—that's what had been harassing her eyes. It's a pity that she can't see the condition of her eyes through her pupils herself. She couldn't look into her own eyes. Nevertheless, by chance, she studied the pomegranate seed that has always been buried in her eyes: that’s her biggest floater, and she thought it was God. Before she was 18, she always found a spot of light before her eyes, and she thought it was a holy sign. One day, she pressed her eyes hard, thinking that this would solve her short-sightedness, so she accidentally saw what the sign represented. It was a surreal white fluorescent object with a smooth surface, but it was beautiful. Other than pomegranate seeds, she thought it was some kind of ore, or fragments of the moon. Later, the pomegranate seed was squeezed into the lower left corner of her eye, and she could no longer pray for peace in the light, it then became a bother. She had to write a poem for it, only one line: "God stuck between my eyeball and lower eyelid”.
​
​
In addition to the floaters, she saw golden lightning flashes, also red ones. Lightning split out of her tear ducts, startling her when she was about to fall asleep. After that, she'll lose sleep all night, covering her eyes with her hands to stop the lightning from occurring. But almost fatefully, she couldn't escape these lightning, because they were blood vessels inside her eyes. The last time she saw them was when the doctor checked her eyes. The doctor held a golden flashlight into her eyes and showed her to look at the top left, left, bottom left, bottom, bottom right, right, top right, top. She looked at the shadows of vessel branches lingering, but the doctor told her he found nothing wrong. Perhaps the problem, she thought, was not her eyes, but her brain.
​
​
She walks with her eyes closed, and as someone who can't see, she walks well. She is familiar with the steps, so she knows when to turn. The hand carries her slowly, she feels like she has walked for twenty minutes, when in fact they have only walked for seven minutes. Near the end, she is sleepy and decides to take a nap, this is when the hand lets go of her. She opens her eyes and discerns in the darkness that they have reached the twelfth floor. The woman sighs, her breath blows the hair on her temples.
​
​
The woman says, "We stop here, and you'll see me tomorrow."
​
​
She watches the woman walking farther and farther in the dark, a tear falls from her helpless eyes. The tear is moving away just like her hand. It is as sad as like a parrot flying off her shoulder.
​
