Christian Collection

Behind Blue Eyes

Refulgent, blue, empty. They stared from the shadows of the crowds and caught my attention. Then they were gone. Sharp wind bit at my face making the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. I shuffled forward a few more paces and they were back, peering from among the midst of the milling people. Loneliness, vastness, terror. I saw it all in those two stark blue irises; they say eyes are the gateway to the soul. I found myself staring, and the eyes were staring back. I moved towards them. They were gone again.

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Could the boy, who was staring at me, see the shards like glass cutting at my soul from inside. No one could see them, but they were there. A thousand wounds like tiny pinpricks everywhere. No one cared. If only they would take off their blinders, look at me, see the pain they all inflicted, every moment their words like a thousand knives, slicing at my fragile heart. Their gazes purposefully ignoring me, throwing me aside with every glance that turned away. Their thoughts were like hundreds of bullets ripping me apart. I was falling apart, they were tearing me to pieces. However, in their content oblivion they did not realize the pain they were causing, the inflictions upon me they dealt with every moment. I wanted to scream. I couldn't. They could never know because they would never care. Disappearing into their midst, I hid again, mentally curling into a tiny ball, hoping their attacks might cease for a moment. I closed my eyes and retreated inside my mind. Folding into myself, I raced away from the crowds. Harsher, pressing, agonizing. Relentlessly, they would not stop. I collapsed, the sounds of my delicate heart fragmenting and shattering, filled my ears. I was a mess, broken on the floor, smashed to bits by all their judgment.

Help me!

My screams were silent, my pain unheard, unseen. I stared hopelessly to the sky.

Help!

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No one saw her break, they ignored her agony. I wondered if they could see it, for they simply walked by like she was a ghost of sorts. I saw her, though; I understood. Her eyes stared blankly to the sky, her screaming was pitiful and wailing. Unable to leave her, I approached and knelt beside the shattered form of this girl.

"Help me!" she cried out, but no one heard her, just me. They were too busy stabbing with their hurtful words, burning with their judgmental gazes. Before she, their victim, had been like a beautiful vase now thrown to the floor, scattered over the ground in thousands of fragments. Sharp edged they cut the feet of those that dared walk over her, a constant reminder to those who had caused her infliction. I picked up a piece of her broken person and looked at it for a long moment. I picked up another piece and fit them together. They were beautiful.

Gathering her bits, I took them to my Father; I gave them over to Him. His brilliant, pure hands reassembled her. However, He changed the design, recreating something new from the unbound fragments of the old. She became something innocent, pure, like Him, something beautiful. Her figure was unblemished, white as snow. The blood that poured from His wounds cleansed her as she was in His light. Last of all were her eyes, set in place by my Father's perfect hands, which bore the hole's once filled with nails my race had driven through His hands. When she stood again, complete and whole, a new being, I looked into those flawless blue eyes. No longer were they empty, full of terror, loneliness, vastness or pain. Now they were mirrors reflecting His light, and windows into a soul now washed clean by Christ's blood.