A singer without a voice, a componist without his hearing, a sprinter without legs, an artist without sight... It would be horrible for each and every single one of them. A world they once knew and loved, forever lost to them - as if their life was taken away from them. Where once beautiful colours bathed the scenery in a mesmerizing luminescence, dull gray would take its place; where once the bewitching sounds of nature would whisk away whatever a troubled mind would worry, only the disturbing silence would be found. The mere thought was horrifying. Marie Joseph Yves Paul Gilbert du Motier Maquis de Lafayette. He was one of those unlucky people to be met with a hard blow like that. Only 19, just starting out as an artist, he had lost his eyesight. Just like that. And there was nothing anyone could do anout it, no matter how much they tried. His once happy and outgoing demeanor turned into something listless; cynical even. With each passing day, he lost sight of himself even more, being nothing more than a mere shadow of who he used to be. Today was just like any other day. Nothing special. Lafayette, as he preferred to be called, made his was down the road, a stick tightly gripped in his hand to avoid running into people. It was hard. He had moved to America on his grandmother's wish, who hoped he would find his happiness again in the country of unlimited possibilities. She couldn't bear seeing him as he was. It had been a little over a month now and he had yet to learn the language. It was hard without any help, nor being able to study himself. Some people around here even went as far as to make his life even harder, putting things in his way, tripping him, taking his stuff. There was nothing he could do about it. He had no one, but he didn't even care anymore, simply letting things wash over him as they came.