Los Angeles.
But not the one from the movies.
No dazzling neon lights or glittering facades.
No glamour, no plastic smiles stretched to the ceiling.
Just a forgotten corner, lost in the bowels of a decaying neighborhood.
A place where even the shadows seemed to have given up.
In a cramped studio apartment, where the walls wept despair and cockroaches reigned as kings, lived Rays.
Blind. Marked. Broken.
Barely twenty years old, yet carrying the weariness of an old man.
Not the wrinkles of wisdom earned through time—no, just the invisible scars of a life crushed beneath indifference.
His long, greasy hair hung in filthy curtains over a face no one ever looked at. And those scratched, opaque sunglasses—more shield than accessory.
His voice? A breath snuffed out in the night.
His movements? The weight of silence and abandonment.
At his side, unwavering, Rex.
A husky with ember eyes, more loyal than any oath, quieter than death itself.
"Come on, old boy. Time to go."
Rays stretched, his bones cracking under the burden of the days.
His hand brushed through Rex's fur, he grabbed his cane, and stepped into a world that had never cared to see him.
---
People dodged him like a storm.
Some whispered half-disgusted rumors.
Others tossed coins at him with the carelessness of throwing a stone into a puddle.
He didn't want their pity, but picked them up anyway—an old survival reflex.
"Look at that guy… he's faking it. They're all the same, fake blind."
"Look at his dog. Poor thing's too cute for this dump."
He didn't answer.
He just kept walking, groping.
One hand in Rex's fur, the other tapping his cane against the pavement like a funeral drum.
Each step a silent war.
And yet, he walked.
To see—just once. Even for a second.
To see Rex.
To see the sky, even if it's made of lead.
To see this world, filthy or not.
But the world didn't care.
Until that day.
As he was crossing a crosswalk, pulled by Rex, the noise of the world dissolved into a muffled buzz.
A pain without shape, a burning in his throat, like a scream caged for years.
He stopped.
Right there, in the middle of the concrete, in the middle of indifference.
Horns blared, people shouted—but he stayed still.
He raised his head to the gray sky, and whispered.
A filthy, desperate prayer.
Not a divine plea—just a human cry.
"I'm not some fallen hero from a glorious past. I've never known light.
No family. No friends. Not a single memory worth keeping."
"I'm not blind because I was proud. I was born in darkness.
Exiled before I even understood what that meant."
"I'm exhausted."
"I don't ask for riches, or glory, or even peace. Just…"
He clenched his fists. Rex whimpered softly.
"I want to see. Just once. See this world—even if it's ugly, even if it's vile, even if it makes me sick. I want to decide for myself if it's worth it."
"So whoever's listening—God, devil, or something in between…"
"Take what you want. My soul, my body, the scraps of my mind."
"But give me sight. Just once.
And I'll sell you everything.
Even what I never had."
Silence fell.
The world held its breath.
And in that stillness, a voice spoke.
"Rays. You want to see?"