The Cursed Miracle

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic


A dream, a picnic, Macbeth. How can all of these things be related to each other? To Chelsea LeClaire, she's merely trying to enjoy a perfect day lying under the sun with her little twin brother,
Chester, and Jared Dellinger, her boyfriend. What about the fact that she seems to be going blind...?



The sun shone brightly high in the clear blue sky. White fluffy clouds roamed free like dots of sheep scattering across the vast pasture. Birds chirped all around, hidden in lush green trees. Flowers of all colors sprouted in the newly-cut meadow. The gentle breeze blew in their sweet scents, attracting all kinds of people to take a sniff.

Spring was finally here, insinuating that new beginnings were also here. There was no need to be dwelling on depressing stuff. Stuff like the dreams Chelsea LeClaire had been having recently.

She couldn’t exactly pinpoint when this had started. For sure, though, was that it had been occurring every night over the past few weeks. The details were fuzzy, buried deep within her mind, but the one thing that had been imprinted in her memory—  haunted her, even — was a white room filled with people. People in the same white gown, a uniform of some sort.

“Dreams are the projections of our repressed thoughts and desires from deep within the subconscious.”

“What?” Chelsea asked, turning her face toward her younger brother. Her body, sprawled on the red and white checkered blanket, suddenly stiffened. Her hand stopped rummaging in the picnic basket, blindly searching for food. “Chester, how do you mean?”

There was a theory Chelsea had read a long time ago that twins had the ability to talk to each other telepathically and read each other’s minds. It was a travesty to think such things, let alone prove it for she knew that identical twins were just like other siblings with the addition of being, well… identical in appearance. It was just the fact that they knew each other so well that seemed to point people toward that direction. However, to Chelsea, Chester was brilliant and she couldn’t help but felt that sometimes he could look into her head, her mind, her soul like a person flipping through a book.

Now, Chester narrowed his eyes, his whole wheat, nutritious-filled sandwich of freshness with lettuce, ham, cheese, and tomato froze in his mouth, uneaten.

“Freud,” he said, replying without any elaboration as if that one word held the meaning of everything.

A second later, her brother completely ignored her and went to biting into his sandwich, chewing with his mouth close. Chelsea couldn’t help but question whether it was her fault for not knowing what was being discussed.

She knew that this would take some time for her brother was a kind of a science freak, who believed that one should mull his meal into liquid so his stomach wouldn’t be working too hard to digest those food. With all due respect, she’d still presume that it was unlikely that there would be anything left for his stomach to munch on by the time the food arrived at its destination.

Therefore, she decided to divert her attention to Jared, her boyfriend. She reached for him and interlocked their hands, disregarding her brother’s intent stare. This was a silence that spoke louder than words, heavy enough to increase the awkwardness and tension in the air.

Being with him and knowing him all her life had bestowed upon her a sort of immunity; it was adequate to indicate that he meant no harm. In fact, she had learned a long time ago that this was his defensive mechanism working. That he was simply calculating and his mind would be spinning at least a hundred miles an hour, formulating a plan of how to act and what to say in case someone meant him or someone he loved harm.

This was Chester trying to guard her from unexpected threats.  

Chelsea looked up at Jared who was looking a bit timid, slightly uncomfortable from her brother’s glare. She tugged at their hands, sending him a soft smile and asking with her eyes if he knew what she didn’t.

He bent his head, giving her his sweet, dazzling smile. She sighed contently. It was a smile that melted her, lighting up her inside, her world. She almost forgot the trouble on her mind. Almost.

“I’ve been reading Macbeth,” Jared said. “I was asking Chester if he knew anything about sleep and dreams since they seem to be one of the important themes here.”

“Classic,” Chelsea hummed, pointing at the sky and tracing the patterns of the clouds with her finger. She tried not to think about how her dreams and illusions could be plaguing her mind like Macbeth. “Classic but tragic. What does it have to do with what Chester said anyway? Foiled, is it?”

“Freud,” Chester said, putting down his sandwich and taking sips of water. Like actual sips that weren’t a boy’s language meaning guzzling massive gulps of some beverage down his throat. Tension prodded a tic by the corner of his mouth. He seemed to be affronted. “As in Sigmund Freud, an Austrian neurologist and the founder of psychoanalysis. He believed that our actions and behaviors stem from our subconscious— inner desires or cravings, as others might say.”

“Whatever,” she said, yawned, and tilted her head up further to soak in the soft sunlight, receiving kisses from the sun.

It blinded her momentarily, not having closed her eyes fast enough. And now, when she did, dark spots danced across the back of her eyelids and a tear slid down her cheek. Dizzy, Chelsea rolled her still-closed, stinging eyes and kneaded her eyelids.

Suddenly, white light pierced through her vision. She could see a room—the room. She gasped and sat up quickly. Her eyes flew open on reflex and soon the moment was gone.

“What’s wrong?” She was not sure who asked.

Chelsea blinked rapidly, her vision starting to clear. Her breathing quickened as she turned around. Is this my imagination or do the colors seem less sharp? She thought, shaking her head.

When she was less disorientated and finally got her bearings, she realized that she had a hard grip on her boyfriend. Her nails were digging into his flesh.

“Sorry,” she said, releasing him as she stared into Jared’s eyes with panic like a deer caught in the headlights. She could vaguely feel her overprotective younger twin brother’s eyes followed her every movement. “I—”

A strong wind swept through the park, bringing sand and dust particles with it as it rustled the trees and made leaves fall. Chelsea shuddered as the wind caressed her skin and slithered past her body. She’d let her hair down and now the deep brown strands cascaded around her shoulders, following the wind’s direction. She shut her eyes once more, catching something in them on the way.

“Macbeth’s visions and hallucinations were merely his guilty conscience speaking to him, is it not?” She blurted out instead of the ‘I’m fine’ speech she had mentally prepared. “Because of his tyrannical government by killing everyone in his path of being king?”

“Uh, yes,” Jared said and a minute later Chelsea could feel him wrapping her shawl around her. The soft silky touch slightly soothed her.

“Thanks, Jerry,” Chelsea said, accepting it with a smiling face but refusing to open her eyes.

“Something really is wrong, isn’t it?” Chester chided although his voice was laced with concern.

“I just—” fear that the moment I open my eyes would be the same moment that the images become dimmer, distorted as if I’m losing my sight. “I think I caught something in my eyes,” she said instead and raised her hands to remove or rub her eyes, she wasn’t sure.

“Chelsea, stop. Put your hands down this instant,” her brother said. “Do you want them to get infected? Tear your cornea and risk having permanent vision loss?”

Oh, you have no idea, brother, Chelsea thought, rolling her eyes.

“I can take a look at them,” Jared suggested.

“Ye—”

“No,” Chester said firmly. “Watch it, Dellinger.”

Chelsea could just imagine him pointing a finger at her boyfriend, and even though most people found this threatening or even frightening, she found it ridiculous and amusing instead.

The next moment, she could feel his presence near her.

Chelsea knew that her brother was a perfectionist. A perfectionist in academics, health, manners, and her welfare. Especially her welfare, but he was popular (which she till today couldn’t quite comprehend) and girls were fawning over him, claiming that he would eventually display to them his warm and gentle side that was in contrast of his cold and— to an extent—hostile exterior.

“You know, he was just being generous and not actually thinking of taking an advantage on me?” Chelsea said as Chester nudged her chin upward. “You’re acting more and more like a nagging old lady as the day goes by.”

“Open your eyes,” he said in a voice that could both be interpreted as impatient and authoritative.

She complied, if a little reluctantly. Only partly was because of him.

It seemed that there was nothing to be worried about at all since she could perceive his electric blue eyes bearing into her identical ones, and it was clear that he was questioning her logic.

Anyone else would’ve backed down. Chelsea once heard that most of his classmates said that his stare could send chills down their spines. Some would even run away, crying.

Not her, though.

Chelsea held her brother’s gaze and raised her chin up higher, haughtily. She was openly challenging him.

He was as unfazed as ever. (What a way to drag the fun out of everything!)

“Indisputably, I’m not biologically female in any form whether physically, emotionally, or mentally.” Chester turned her face left and right, his visage transformed into something more stern and solemn. “Therefore, your statement can’t be applied to someone such as myself.”

“And again, you don’t understand how sarcasm works,” muttered Chelsea.

“My brain can comprehend clearly, precisely, and accurately the definition of sarcasm,” Chester said, plucking at her eyelids and blowing into them.

Chelsea hoped that no spit could get in there. It would be ironic if he was the one lecturing her about eye habits when he himself was the one to injure them.

Over his shoulder, Chelsea spotted Jared staring at their exchange silently with a box of orange juice to keep him occupied. He gave her a wry smile. Clearly he had something on his mind.

Before she could ask Jerry about it, Chester was breaking away from her, saying, “That ‘something’ must’ve already fallen out.”

The second he said that, though, was when everything deteriorated.

Her vision plummeted. Everything around her became blurry and everything appeared to be spinning. The scene was now in monochrome like she was watching a movie from the twentieth century.

“Chelsea. Chelsea…”

For the second time that day, white light speared behind her closed eyelids. She rolled her eyes, but this time it wouldn’t go away.

Then, came a vision. She was seeing the white room again, but this time she was conscious and she could see things clearer. People were meandering around with the same white hospital gowns. Some had a blank expression on their faces, others were talking almost unintelligibly—she could hear nothing— as the listeners were making confused faces but made no attempt to ask them for clarification.

“Chelsea,” somebody said. That seemed to be the only thing she could hear. Her name. She wished she could dismiss that as the whispers of the wind or the rustling of leaves, but she focused harder only to see a bespectacled, professional-looking man who looked like—

“Why did you ask about Macbeth?” Jared asked. “Are you having hallucinations?”

“I-I was just asking,” she said distractingly, not knowing where to look.

I do not crave to be in a hospital. So, I must have done something wrong to get admitted there, she thought.

“Are you alright?” Jared continued. Chelsea could feel him scoot closer, a hand resting on her shoulder.

“We can come back here later,” Chester said.

“No, I’m fine. Just…” Am I going mad? She moved her hand away from her face. It was wet. “I don’t think the weather can be more perfect than today.”

Stormy clouds flew across the sky as if to contradict Chelsea’s statement. It was beginning to drizzle. Droplets of water fell against their skin.

“What kind of logic is that?!” Chester snorted, pointing at the sky. He started packing up frantically. “We’re going home now!”

Everything was becoming darker and darker. She was having more and more difficulty breathing with a palpitating heart.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?”

If she wasn’t already sitting, she would’ve collapsed then and there.

“Chester! Jerry!” She reached her arms out toward them when their bodies were merely outlines.

As she became blind, she realized three things. One, the white room was a room in a hospital— or how she imagined it to be anyway. Two, she really was blind. And three, the reason she ‘thought’ she had dreamed of the room and connected that to Macbeth was because she really was Macbeth. She had killed her boyfriend. Jared Dellinger.

“No. Noooooooooooooo!” She cried, clawing at her eyes.

In the background, thunder roared and lightning sliced through the sky, splitting the world in half. The rain and wind blew into her eyes, decreasing her already terrible visualization.

“Chester!” She screamed to be heard, clinging to the mirage she had built for herself as best as she could. “Jared!”

The last thing she heard before darkness complete engulfed her vision was:

“You have to understand. Accidents happen every day, Chelsea LeClaire.”


“What’s going on?” A medical intern was staring raptly through the window at the chaotic scene in front of her.

A woman, around thirty years old was screaming loudly, pulling at her hair, and slapping her cheeks. Tears and blood streamed down her clawed face.

“Let me handle this!” A doctor directed as countless of guards and nurses filled the room up. Other patients were indifferent to their surroundings. “Stay put!”

The kerfuffle muffled his voice. Soon everyone was rushing in, brushing past the doctor with electric blue eyes and dark brown hair.

There was no doubt of the resemblance.

“Sis,” he began. “I don’t know if you can hear me or even recognize me, but I’m sorry. And no matter how much time passes I’ll keep on saying that. None of this is your fault. Please don’t think otherwise. It was an accident. You’d never know when, how, or what could happen to you. But if you want to blame someone, blame me! I was the reason that accident happened. I called you into making you take that phone call. I can’t heal you, only stabilize your condition. I am Macbeth. Not. You!”

“Jerry?! Chester?!” The woman continued to shriek loudly, stumbling as she backed toward a wall and slapping blindly at the hands grabbing for her. “You guys are the most precious people to me! Where are you?!”

“Her name is Chelsea LeClaire. She was transferred here less than a month ago when she could no longer tolerate how she’s become blind,” a nurse who was in charge of showing interns around said with a grim expression. “It was rumored that she and her boyfriend was visiting her brother, Dr. LeClaire—” she pointed at the doctor in white coat “—on the night of the accident. She was driving when she accepted her brother’s call. A car came out of nowhere. She survived but glass had grazed her eyes, blinding her. Her boyfriend didn’t make it. She’s been blaming herself until she's lost her mind.”

“Whether this is a curse or a miracle is a moot point,” the intern said and walked forward when the nurse told them that they should move on. She couldn’t take her eyes away as she watched the doctor applied pressure on the plunger of a syringe until fluid dripped from its nozzle and plunged it into Chelsea’s neck.

She went limp.

“A cursed miracle, kid,” the nurse replied. “That’s what this is.”  

 


Submitted: April 19, 2018

© Copyright 2023 UnextraordinaryGirl. All rights reserved.

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Bruvton

Whoa! This is really interesting! I love how unexpected lots of this is! You may not remember, but you submitted this to a literary magazine that I started last year. Well, this story is accepted! Congratulations!

Sat, February 2nd, 2019 11:53am

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Reply

Whoah! Really? That's amazing! Thank you, Bruvton. Glad you like it.

Sat, February 2nd, 2019 4:02am

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