Occhiolism

She dissected me with her glass eyes. Perfectly manicured black nails sat perched on the polished and smooth desk. Tailored would be a nice description.

I must have passed whatever scrutinizing formality she delicately lead by, because she clicked her waxy heels towards the wall, and drew a circle with a single black nail in the solid and abyssal face of it. The sound sent an unpleasant shiver up my spine and I took an involuntary breath.

She waved me toward the hole, and went back. With the feeling of jumping into ice water, I plunged into the hole.

New eyes opened. Old skin was peeled off. My fingers unfurled to touch the gloss of a burning white ground.

Overwhelming noise overtook my senses; the feeling of a thousand eyes peering forward into everything and nothing all at once. The cacophony only ceases when I shut my eyes. The gasping rasp of my breath the only noise that shattered the purity of the gently humming space.

Everytime I opened them, the crescendo of noise and emotion rushed over me again. I would get up, stand, and open my eyes; just to be promptly knocked over onto the glossed tomb I found myself trapped in.

I swore to myself that one day I would get back up and stand in the noise. To look through the eyes of thousands.
Earn my place in a world beyond my own perspective.