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Alice Walker

Age: 20
Hair: short black
Eyes: brown
Height: 5'5
Weight: 101
Talents: visions
Bio: Invovled in a fire at the tender age of 10, she lost both her family and her eyesight. Spending the rest of her childhood permanently in an Orphanage, in and out of rehabilitation. Learning secretarial skills aimed towards her disability, spending her days as an employee for a Call Center. Started to have visions in the disguise as nightmares when she was 18.

There were five senses, at least, five normal senses, that each and every creature born on earth was allowed. And those five would be: Sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch. Even if, by some odd occurance, one was to be born without one of these senses, the body always adapted to it's situations. If one were born without hearing, deaf to all the noise around it, sight would be enhanced, and their speech would then rely on the usage of their hands. If they were born without sight, or lost it at some point in their lives, hearing increased, distinction through touch more sensitive. But what of those other senses that some speculated on? The sixth sense? It couldn't truly be labeled, since no one could really describe it. Though there were some, who bereft of one of their original senses, was granted the gift, or the curse, depending on who you asked. For some it interferred with their daily life, forcing them further from the society that they wished to partake in. If it was not controlled, it would run rampant. It could not be given back either, once it was received. Once those eyes were laid upon a vision, it was too late, not even the removal of said eyes would stop them. Since it was not the eyes themselves that say the visions, but the very brain itself, the main motor of the human body. Would anyone wish to escape the gift/curse, enough to extract their own brain and end their life right then? Some would be that needy to escape them, some would not, it was a decision that each individual had to make.
 
Alice was one of the blind. Her case was fortunate and yet unfortunate at the same moment. She had been born with eyesight, her dark brown eyes taking in as much as she could at a time. She had enough time to know colors and shapes, to know the look of the sky and the earth. She had time to identify all the seasons, and each time of day. She had enough to time, to see everything, and know exactly what she was missing. At the age of ten, she was invovled in a fire, that had costed her sight, and the life of her family. The police had instantly called it Arsen, but they never had caught those that set fire to the two-story Victorian house. Spending three day's in the Trauma unit of some unknown Hospital, Alice was redirected to an orphanage, her eyes bandaged as well as parts of her body. Extensive scars had started to cover across her shoulders and trickle down her back. She had to go into rehab, so that when her burns completely healed the skin would not be tight for moving her arms and bending in her back. Also, with her eyesight gone, and she at such a young age, her entire exsistence was off-balance, she could barely even walk without falling, or tripping, or hurting herself. Mentors were there at all hours of the day, trying to force her to learn her new lifestyle. They had to make sure that she did not let herself slum into depression or denial.
 
Eventually the small girl came out victorious, having battled and won her fight with both blindness and her own loneliness. While she had never been placed in any sort of Foster home, her scars and blindness deterred whole families from accepting her as a new member. It didn't seem to bother her much as she grew older. The orphanage was able to seek out training for her, so that she might be able to work and pay for her own needs. Braille keyboards had started floating there way into office buildings, opening up more job positions for the blind, and Alice had been taken through a six-week course in Braille typing. At the age of nineteen, she was living in her own apartment, guided back and forth to work by a seeing-eye Dog named Rosco. She worked nine hours a day for a call-in Customer Service. She did computer work, and even answered phones and helped whoever she could. That went without saying, that most of the work she did on the computer, was typing and printing, the actual software having a built in system, so that she could voice-activate certain jobs or commands.
 
Although for a few years, her life had been rough. The death of her parents, her lose of sight, her burns, and the rejection she experienced from others, she had done well for herself, succeeding in the area's that others thought she might fail. It was going as well as she could have hoped. That is, until the visions started. At first only as nightmares, that barely visited on a few nights during the week, and escalated to full out attacks even during the day.
 
The first had been partially tame, it had made her heart-beat swiften in fear and unease, she had broken out in a slight-sweat, but it had been nothin more. Jerked awake by the need to escape the horror of it, she couldn't even remember what she had seen, her awakening had been so abrupt. Not that she had intentionally tried to force her brain to remember, she thought it nothing more than a nightmare, and had swept it from her thoughts quickly. Padding to her kitchen, counting the steps and following a routine that was both tedious and slow.
 
1,2,3,4,5...slight shift to the left. 6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16...180 degree turn to the right. 17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25...be careful of the coffee-table. 26,27,28,29...another 180 degree turn to the right. Bare-feet touch the cool linolium...30,31,32...
 
She stopped just short of stubbing her big toe on the bottom kitchen cabinets, lifting her hands up to waist level and resting them on the cool lip of the sink. Then she would have to proceed to lift her left hand in a slow motion, counting five seconds till she let her finger-tips reach forward, grasping the circular knob and pulling it forward. It was an irritating process, if one had not stretched out the amount of patience they naturally had. Without too much more trouble, she had a plastic cup in hand. Plastic because it could not break if dropped, and therefore she was in no danger of having to pick up dozens of glass shards, and cutting herself during the clean-up. Gripping the cup in her right hand, her left hand feeling along the faucet, testing to see the distance from said faucet and cup. Swinging the handle to the far right to ensure the liquid would be at it's coolest. Her thoughts flickered back to what she considered a nightmare, it was gnawing on the edge of her thoughts, making her brain almost itch, filled with nagging and half-formed thoughts.
 
Alice experienced many nightmares as a child, visions of flames and the screaming voices of her family. The sister that she had, flailing about in their shared room, her entire body on fire as well, her cranium and face alit with orange color. But she had learned at an early age, that nightmares were fueled by stress and even traumatic events. She learned how to clear her mind each night before sleeping, so that she would be free of said nightmares. So the sudden appearance of her early childhood ghosts drained most of her energy, just to try and comprehend why they have come back. Her deep-ended thoughts were roughly halted when she was shocked out of her concentration, the shock of cold water sliding across the back of her hand, making goose-bumps pop up along her flesh. The distinct difference between the temperature of her flesh, and the shockingly cold temperature of the water made her flinch back as if she had been burned. The plastic cup was dropped, slamming against the sides of the sink, loud and harsh on her ears. She jumped, and she could hear a low groan from Rosco's sleeping position in the living room floor. He wasn't too akin to being woken up so rudely.
 
She braced herself against the sink, both hands pressed tightly against the wide curve of the hardtop transforming into smooth metal. Pulling in a deep breathe through her small nostrils, letting her lungs expand till she couldn't take in anymore air to fit. Her ribs hurt from being stretched out, and she could feel her body shudder trying to keep so much air in, but she stayed calm, and slowly let the air whisk back out into the kitchen. Doing the same as she had intaking the air, taking her sweet and dear time, forcing out as much of the air as she could, till she could not exhale any longer. She spent those next few moments composing herself, letting her heartbeat slow down from it's rapid tempo. When she felt together, she picked up her fallen cup, tipping it completely up so that whatever liquid that was left drained out. It was a useless motion, as she would just refill the cup. She did not dally about in the kitchen for much longer, before her hand was once again filled with a full cup of cold water. Now, she would return to her room, with her water and hopefully a clear mind so that she could return to sleep.
 
Circle back by another 180 degree turn, she began the down-count. 32,31,30..180 turn to the left. 29,28,27,26, once again gracefully dodge the ominous coffee table. 25,24,23,22,21,20,19,18,17...180 turn to the left. 16,15,14,13,12,11,10,9,8,7,6...shift slightly to the right to avoid her door-jamb. Straight ahead...5,4,3,2,1.
 
The sheets of her bed brushed against her bare knee's, the nightstand close to her right side a solid presence. Pressing her full lips to the cup-rim, having to tilt the plastic contraption only slightly, before water flooded her mouth. Taking only a few gulpfuls, so that her mouth and throat were once again damp and smooth. Setting the cup down, she turned around with a small circle on the ball of her foot, before she flopped onto the bed, curling her legs under the blankets and drawing them up to her chin, closing blind eyes and giving herself over to slumber.

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