Evil Eyes

I struggle against the heaviness that threatens to keep my eyes shut. I lift my hand to my face and feel the skin around my eye, as if that would help me to gain the courage to open my eyes. My hand freezes, and I can feel the goosebumps rising on my skin. Never have I felt so afraid to do such a seemingly simple thing. I haven't seen the world for over a month now, not since the accident. I can feel my eyelashes flutter against the hand that I raised to my eyes, and I allow myself to take a look at the world. I wince as a beam of light enters my line of vision. I did not expect this to hurt, but I suppose that as my eyes have not seen the light of the world in a sometime, it only makes sense that they feel extra sensitive at the moment. I try to let my eyes adjust to the light that assaults my vision, but everything seems hazy, as if Im drunk and I just can’t get the world to focus. I close my eyes quickly, and take a moment to gather myself. 

“Go slow.” He says lightly. I can hear the caution in his voice, he doesn’t want me to overdo it.

‘I know.” I say, “I will.”

I know he is nervous for the outcome. None of us knew if it would actually work, if when I opened my eyes again I would have actually regained the ability to see. I know that mama and papa would have wanted to be here to support me, but I haven’t heard from them since the accident either. I don’t know what to think anymore. 

I try to open my eyes again, but I recoil back into my bed when I realize, these are not my eyes. I will never see my eyes again. He will never again look into my eyes and see the very depths of my soul pouring out to the surface through my eyes. I, and everyone who has even known me, will now and forever look into the eyes of a stranger. 

My hand moves subconsciously to my cheek to wipe at the wetness I feel rolling across my cheek. I am crying. Crying for a part of myself that I will never get back, for the old me that I will never see again, but also crying for the opportunity that I have been given to see the world again. 

I try again to open my eyes, and I am able to open them a little wider this time. The brightness doesn’t seem quite so harsh as it did the first time, but I still can’t quite make out what I am supposed to be seeing. I feel his hand touch my shoulder, and I for a moment, I feel overjoyed at the thought of looking up and seeing his face again, looking into his deep brown eyes that he can never appreciate, but knowing that they glow in the sunlight and that they shine when he is doing something he truly loves, seeing the way his smiles takes up his entire face, and the four lovely dimples that I love so much.

I look up past my shoulder, and suddenly the world is spinning. I choke as a try to swallow, and I feel as though I have never felt my heart beat so hard in my chest before. 

My body shakes as I gasp and lift my hand to cover my mouth. I hear a scream that I soon recognize is coming from my body, although I do not recognize the piercing cry that escapes my lips. 

“Hey! Hey its okay. Look at me, calm down. What are you so afraid of. It’s just me.”

I recognize the sound of the voice as his, as the man that I love, as the person who has held me and told me it is alright more times than I can count. Who has showed me love when no one else has. But his face is not the face I see. The face that meets m y gaze is horrific. Its twisted and contorted into what I can only describe as a monster. Its as if I have been shown all the evil that could lie within a person, only it doesn’t reside behind an unassuming facade, it shines clear as day.

My eyes slam shut and I gasp for breath. I feel his touch on my shoulder again, trying to calm me down, tracing his finger up and down my arm as he has done so often to calm me in times of distress. I shudder and pull away as far as I can manage.

“NO!” I scream, “Don’t touch me!” I can barely choke out before a wracking sob shakes my body.

I try to rationalize what I am seeing. I try to convince myself that it all must be a big understanding, that my eyes are playing tricks on me, and that I was just so terrified of not being able to see ever again that my mind created an alternate reality out of fear and anxiety.

The thought comes back again. These are not my eyes. These are the eyes of a stranger. I try to think back to everything I was told about my donor before accepting to the operation.

My mind is spinning and I recall:

“She was very ill, her quality of life was rapidly declining.”

“The eyes you will be receiving are in excellent condition. It was her mind that plagued her, not her body.”

My mind is racing. What if it wasn’t her mind that was playing tricks on her? What if it wasn’t her mind that was on the decline? 

I hear footsteps, and the door creaks open.

“Hey missy, how are we doing today.” The Doctor asks me

.

I can’t manage to get any words to come out, and I hear the Doctor take a step closer to me.

“Can you try and open your eyes for me? I want to take a look and make sure that everything is working as it should be.”

It must have all been a misunderstanding, there is no way that what I saw is real. I take a deep breath, and open my eyes very slightly at first, and then as much as I can manage before the light becomes too painful again. My eyes search for the face that is talking to me, and I can make out a blurry figure leaning over me and looking into my eyes. I try my best to focus my vision.

I feel as though I have been punched right in the gut and all of the air has been knocked out of me. The face that watches me from above is the most terrifying face I have ever seen in my entire life. It's angry and red and blistered. Its scarred and twisted into a horrifying grin, and realization dawns on the mans face.

“Welcome home. This is your reality now.”