I see her bend over him; helpless, cowering, able to move but somehow forced into trembling stillness. She calmlyinforms him she is going to remove his eyes. His screams wax and wane; from rage, to horror, to terror, to pleading, to praying, to wordless mewls and whimpers indefinable terror. I see his eyes through hers; they turn white and blinding and ovular and large. She reaches down and plucks one out. No blood. I realise that they are not orbs of optical nerves, but eggs, and I am not surprised as she places first one, then the other into her mouth. She leaves him there, eyeless, blind, no longer screaming but somehow his silence is more heartwrenching. It is at that moment that I begin to question whether I am the hunted or the hunter. I flee from the eater of eyes as she turns and surveys the room, for I know that she is looking for me and as soon as she finds me, something amorphous yet unmistakably horrific will befall me. Yet I see through her eyes and I want her to catch me, always staying just out of reach and within sight.
I know that I want her to catch me.
I know that I can’t let her catch me.
I can’t lose my eyes.
lindsaybits 10.12.99