Essais - Essays

The eyes

One night as I lay awake in bed, I got up, panting, drenched in sweat, my eyes lingering in the distant darkness, looking for a presence that I felt, perhaps in my dream, or whilst my consciousness was floating, somewhere between emptiness and awareness.

I looked around, searching for the fleeting sensation that had me lifted from my sleep; but, alas, there was nothing to be found.

I fell asleep once more.

It was there, still.

This time, it felt like something was forcing my eyes shut; I fought for a while, until it became clear I could not win against the inane, incomprehensible strength that was preventing me from seeing past the very shadow that was projected from the back of my eyes; it was only when I gave up, giving the presence a false sense of confidence, that I was finally able to reopen them.

I did not like what I saw.

Across the room from my bed, the pattern on the wallpaper had changed.

Instead of dullness, emptiness, for once, the darkness was staring back at me.

It was... personified, almost as if the spirit of the night itself had taken interest in my case, and decided to visit me on that unfaithful night. But he was not here out of curiosity and boredom, rather of hatred and envy. It was grinning.

I reached for the box of pills by the side of my bed -oh, foolish was I !; as soon as my fingers extended outside of the comfort of my drapes, a coldness unlike any that I've ever felt crept under my nails.

I screamed ; but no sound came out. I jumped, but no movement was seen. I thought as hard as I could about John, pleading at him to come help me; but he would not come.

I slowly drew my fingers back, and looked at the darkness once more.

It was still staring at me. It hadn't moved.

What had moved, instead, was the paper behind him. It had begun slowly slithering, intertwining in complex patterns that I couldn't comprehend anymore ; and in this patterns, the eyes appeared.

Red, profound, inscrutable eyes; their gaze went right through me, pierced my skin, boiled my blood and soared my throat; even the thought of screaming for help quickly became but a distant memory.

My own self was slipping away.

The darkness would still not move ; the eyes were still staring, tiny, enormous vermilion holes, gasping and gaping for the very essence of me.

I was being stripped away, bit by bit. Not from my body; but my soul. As the eyes were growing bigger, getting closer, as the presence, the darkness was grinning harder and harder, incredibly still across the room, I started to forget my own name. I started to forget what my face was like; the length of my nose, the colours of my iris, the softness of my skin.

The overwhelming sense of powerlessness, even, began to flee. I was no more.

Soon enough, there was only the darkness.

One final time, I closed my eyes, and thus, forgot who I was.

I reopened them seconds later -an eternity.

I wasn't in my bed anymore

I was staring at it

It was empty

I moved, painfully, my gaze to my left; the darkness had left.

Just like every other pair of eyes on the wall besides me, I started becoming more and more still.

My eyes were still burning

Burning red.

As the morning came

I had forgotten everything

I felt nothing except relief : finally, I was at peace. I was no more.