On average, blinking your eyes takes anywhere between 0.1 to 0.4 seconds, and the amount of time spent blinking takes up 10% of your life. An useless and trivial fact, really. You could function perfectly well in your tasks regardless of the split second spent blinking since it passes so quickly. Indeed, so many things can happen in the blink of an eye.

For example, you could have been walking down a fairly empty street in broad daylight, then you blink, only to find yourself somewhere else entirely. The warm sunlight would be replaced with the yellow of streetlights and glowing signboards outside the alleyway, fighting away the pitch darkness of lady night. The squeaks of mice or some other dumpster diving animal could be heard as they scurried around. Cold concrete meets skin where your knees would be pressed to the ground. And the putrid scent of days old garbage permeates the air.

This was no wild fantasy of yours. But at this point, it was very much easy to think it is. Shock and confusion had numbed you to the core and you stayed rooted to where you knelt. The world continued on.

And then, you finally stood, unsteady on your feet as if you've just learned to walk. A light pace to test your footing, and you were out of the alley.

People were shuffling by in the mildly crowded streets, bodies blurring into one another, each with a destination in mind. Subtly, you inserted yourself into the flow of people. You're not sure what was in that direction, but that was the last thought on your mind. That is, if you had been thinking about anything to begin with. Your feet took you along as the crowd thinned out, people splitting off once they've reached wherever they were headed. And you continued walking, one street, lined with shops and lit by street lamps, replaced by another, and another, and another. It felt endless.

A body rammed into yours, sending you toppling backwards and momentarily breaking the spell of numbness. You let out a grunt as your elbows scraped against the ground, leaving a stinging pain behind. Looking at them, you saw that the tumble had drawn blood, pinpricks of red against skin. You turned your gaze upward, looking at the cause of this incident. On the ground in front of you was a boy who looked no older than you are. The impact seemed to have made him fall too as he rubbed the back of his head, unaware of your stare.

The other passerby's didn't spare a glance.

After the aching seemed to have stopped, his eyes turned up and caught yours in the midst of your staring.

You blinked.

And then he was jumping to his feet, apologizing all the way. His apologies went in one ear and out the other as you let him pull you onto your feet. Any normal person would be telling this stranger that it's alright since he didn't intentionally bump into them, and you were normal by all standards considered. Except your mind was still out of place from... everything, and you couldn't muster up the normalcy needed. So instead you nodded. And it appears that was enough.

He had messy blond hair and blue eyes. And dried and fresh streaks of blood running down his forehead and from his lips. And bruises black and blue on his face, arms and every inch of his skin that was showing. And dried tear stains on his cheeks and reddened eyelids that tells you the boy had been crying.

Wordlessly, you reached into the bag that had ended up here with you and pulled out your half used pack of tissues. You barely acknowledged the fact that you moved as if by instinct, a gesture you're so familiar with in a place that's so unfamiliar. When you handed it over to him, wordless yet again, he looked stunned, confused even, as if he hadn't realized how beaten up he looked.

"Are you okay?"

There, you've said your first words since coming... here. A nagging sensation in the back of your head tells you that perhaps you were meddling too much in this stranger's affairs, and you should have directed the question towards yourself, but it was far too late to take back your words. Plus, you could settle for this blissful state of ignorance you chose to render yourself to, until the cold harsh truth decides to throw itself directly in front of you. And the boy may not even open up to your question, you are but a stranger to him.

Then, like a scene out of a cliche fanfiction, the boy gaped at you, eyes wide, as tears began rolling down his cheeks. He brought a hand up to his eyes as if checking whether he's truly crying, and a confused noise slipped out from his mouth. That quickly turned into a muffled whimper and then a full out bawling session.

Was it too late to take back your question?

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In a world so unfamiliar, I found you.