What the Professors did not know when they turned the whole world into a glass eye is what would reflect back.
See, they made the eyes out of mirrored glass.
Covered spires and lampposts, windows and concrete with tiny, shiny eyes–always watching, always showing. Without pupils or irises, they seem to follow you, act out your life in their little sclera screens for you. Beads of silver beneath moonlight–darkness the only safe place, now.
Reflected back, we saw how small and easy we were to replicate to the world and we hid.
The Professors didn’t like that.
They said if we wouldn’t come out, then they’d come in. The eyes would go in and ours would go out. If we wouldn’t look, then they’d make us see.
For all their know-how, the Professors knew very little. For all their vision, saw very little.
To be fair, once we started to smash their mirror glass eyes, I suppose they couldn’t very well see much of anything.
Still, I doubt they foresaw us picking up the shards of their shattered world and jabbing them into our own eyes. Deep, deep until red gave way to blessed black. Merciful dark. Reflections of ourselves become shadow memory.
What the Professors should’ve known when they turned the whole world into a giant glass eye, is that we’d rather blind ourselves than meet its gaze. Our gaze.
They should’ve known.
You’d know, right? If the world’s mirror were facing you, you’d smash it to bits, right? To forget what you saw, you’d pick up the shards right? To un-know, you’d know what to do, right?
You’d do it too, right?
~Till next time ^.^~
*Check out some more killer stories here. From inside my head to yours ^.^ Sweet screams~