Once again, I’m making my life easy and (hopefully) your
life exciting by using a portion of my writing as a blog post. This is the
third installment (of six) of my serial story Eyes. The first two installments can be found under the “my words”
label.
Since I did this with the last two, I may as well with this
one: for a slight content warning, this one contains a few dark themes. Nothing
awful, but there it is anyway.
Eyes, Part Three
I wake, jerking against the cold metal. My eyes burn at the
movement. The stark white walls blind me. The dial and knobs and levers on the
panels around me are bright colors, made even brighter by the harsh light
emanating from the ceiling. Everything is so vivid, more real than it was three
years ago. An eternity.
A door opens, a single panel of the smooth walls. It
whispers to me as it slides out of the way. Dr. Sandy walks in the door,
holding his titanium briefcase to his chest. Official-looking men in brown
suits follow him, their hard eyes staring at me. I cringe, and try to look
away. Yet, that hurts, too. One of them grins; I want to scream at him. They
took everything from me, why do they smile?
“Good morning, Vivian. You slept nearly two hours this time.
A record.” Dr. Sandy smiles at me and scribbles in his notebook. “Very good.”
He murmurs. “Ah, Vivian, these men are the council, and Mr. Samson. He is the
Director of the board.” He points to the one that grinned at me. I scowl.
“Vivian, is it?” he speaks, and when he does, I flinch. His
voice is so soft, yet it is the softness of a knife pressed against your
throat. “You are the Eyes, eh?” He frowns. “I thought the Eyes would be a
monster, not a young girl.
“She is sixteen, Mr. Samson.” Dr. Sandy fusses with his
controls, turning dials and lever like a madman. Maybe his is a madman. Maybe
they all are. After all, if I close my eyes, they don’t exist. I wonder how
that makes them feel.
“Vivian, this started two years ago, didn’t it?”
I nod.
“Do you remember when it happened? Can you tell me about
it?”
I say nothing, only stare at him with eyes that will not
close because of the machines.
His soft brown eyes harden. “If you do not tell me, Dr.
Sandy will have to force it out of you. I don’t want that to happen, but if it
must, it must. Will you tell me?”
“It wasn’t my fault!” I try to shout, but it hurts my eyes
and throat. “He made me do it! I’m sorry,” I sob, “It’s not my fault. I’m
sorry, I’m so…” My voice trails off, and I sob again.
“I understand,” he says. But I know he doesn’t. No one does.
“Who made you do it?”
“My father.” Air comes slowly, as if the room is full of
water, and the air is forcing its way through.
“What did he do?”
Everything is painted so vividly, I feel as if I am there. His
dark eyes glittering with the drunken rage he always had, the CVP pipe hanging
loosely in one hand, the cigarette lighter in the other. Mother backed against
the wall, screaming at him.
“What did he do, Vivian?” Mr. Samson turns away from me,
looking toward one of the monitors on the wall. I stare at it, knowing the
scene would come. The dark screen flashes to life, a thousand pixels exploding
with color. They hurt my eyes, more than the white light from the ceiling. The
colors form the image in my mind, a movie played out by my thoughts. A tear
falls from my eye, traces a familiar track down my cheek, and falls into the
sensor-beam. It evaporates in an instant, I stare at the wisp of steam The
image on the screen begins to move. My father shouts at mother, curses and
insults. She screams back, and he hits her with the pipe. My father turns to me
clutching the pipe and the lighter. The sparks click as he stares at it, trying
to get it to light. After a long moment, he tosses it aside, a string of curses
following it. I curl into a ball on the screen, but the real me stares at the
steam curling up from the sensor.
The men stare the screen as my father lifts the pipe and I
cover my eyes with my hands. I whisper a few words. “It’s not real.” And the
darkness behind my hands becomes black. The curses are cut off, and everything
disappears. A moment later my hands move away, and there is my father, still
lifting the pipe. I cover my face again; the screen goes black. “Father is not
real,” I whisper. Again the shouts vanish. This time, when I remove my hands,
father is gone. All that remains is his clothing, the pipe, and the lighter in
the corner. The screen goes black, and the real me collapses against the metal
holding me up.
“She is weak,” I hear Dr. Sandy speak. “You should let her
rest.”
“Not until I have answers.” Mr. Samson is standing close.
“How can she do it? She made a man cease to exist, just by closing her eyes and
saying he doesn’t.”
“I do not know, sir.” Dr. Sandy’s southern accent becomes
stronger as he speaks. “It defies every theory I come up with.”
“Run the test.”
“Sir! She is too weak!” Dr. Sandy babbles.
“Run it!” Mr. Samson lifts my chin with a finger. I stare at
him. But what else can I do? They won’t let me blink. “She looks fine to me.”
Dr. Sandy gives me a sympathetic look, but he walks to the
wall and presses a panel. It slides away, revealing the syringe and the blue
vial. I cringe; the movement makes the sensors beep at me. He pours a tiny bit
of the fluid into the syringe, and set it on the metal table below me. Dr.
Sandy picks up the wires and begins to press them against my arms, the tiny
pads buzzing faintly as they stick. He misjudges the placement of one, and it
shocks us both. He yelps, I whimper. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.
When he finishes with the wires on my arms and legs, he
sticks the needle carefully into my shoulder. The pain is worse this time,
because I am weak. He winces when I sob, but he does not stop until the liquid
is all in my body. He presses the tiny chip into my mouth, and pours water in
after. I swallow, because what choice do I have? Mr. Samson grins at me again.
I glare at him, a trickle of water running down my chin. The room begins to
darken. Dr. Sandy flips a switch, and I can close my eyes. It feels so
wonderful. They don’t hurt anymore. The liquid begins to take hold, a jet of
fire shooting down my veins. The fire turns to ice, all at once, and I shiver.
The darkness fades, and I can see. My eyes are still closed, yet I can see
through them. The room is light, but it is faint. The men are not there, the
screens are lifeless and the humming of the lights above me fades to nothing.
Everything looks transparent. I reach out to touch the metal bonds that held
me, and my hand goes right through them. I step down from the machine, and look
around. It wouldn’t last much longer, and Dr. Sandy would put me back up in the
machine, and I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes till the next test.
“This isn’t real.” I say. “The machine isn’t real.” It fades
completely away, as if it never were. The wires on my arms and legs buzz and
hiss, I yank them off. “Mr. Samson is
not real.” There is a faint scream, so faint I almost think I imagine it. “The
Council is not real.” More screams. I ponder the last name. Dr. Sandy has been
kind to me. I do not speak his name. The
white panel that is the door does not stop me as I half-walk half-float through
it into the empty hall outside. I stare at the lights and buttons covering the
walls, wondering what they do. The ice in my heart fades, the test is fading.
My sight fades, and I open my eyes.
The hall looks more alive when there are people in it. They
stare at me, wide eyed. One of the men shouts at me, I close my eyes and
whisper. “They are not real.” The screams echo more loudly than before, but the
hall is empty when I open my eyes, save for the piles of clothes. I stumble to
the closest pile and put on the white lab coat. The panel hisses as it opens
behind me, I turn.
“Vivian!” Dr. Sandy shouts. “What have you done?”
“You locked me up in there!” I scream back. “It’s not my
fault! Just… just leave me be!” I look away.
“Vivian… you can’t run from this. They will find you.” He
points to a monitor next to, a black and white camera screen. Dozens of men
rush past it, loading shock guns.
“I don’t care. Let them kill me!” I back away from him.
“Just let me die.”
“You have a gift, Vivian, and all they want-“
“All they want is to control me.” I interrupt, “All they
want is to find out what is wrong with
me. But nothing is wrong! I am me, I’ve just been me!”
“Vivian, it’s a gift.”
“A gift?” I frown. “Why doctor?”
“I don’t know! The tests show nothing! I can’t figure it
out. Nothing makes sense!”
“Then let me die. Please.” I fall to my knees. “Just let me
die.”
“Vivian…”
“No doctor.” I close my eyes. “He does not exist,” I
whisper. His scream lasts longer than the others. When I open my eyes, he is
gone. A moment later the men appear around the bend. I stay kneeling on the
floor, facing them. One shouts something to me, they all lift their weapons
when I do not respond. I stare at them, and frown. What do they want? Something
hits me in the stomach, a tiny dart. I whimper and fall back. They rush
forward, and I stare up at them. My eyes close, and I whisper. “Nothing…
nothing is... is…”
Blackness.
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