Chapter 1 - The Eyes
The Eyes
The emptiness of the walls swoon me. The old rustic floors cradle me in delight and the lights seem to flicker of joy. I drag my finger along the blank wall, the wall which only owns the feeling of dust and look of decay. The windows look through me with the gaze of a dead man. The humid feel hugs me greatly. The house not of my own stares through me even through the inside. The piercing eyes of death stare from all around. The feeling of ease is unnatural and quivering but is somehow cloying.
The house of my own is almost surreal. The eyes of another taunt a feeling of lowliness.
Even if I look away they drive through me forever as if they were indebted to me. The house of mine has a single dimming light that rarely gives warmth, but even now I continue to patiently stay seated by, anticipating the return of light. Even as I anticipate I can still feel the eyes of another burrowed into me as if they were a parasite devouring me from the inside out. I could never fathom the feeling of the eyes fixated on another.
The inevitable silence of everything yet myself, the dwindling silence of eyes slowly burning through me. As I sit I watch a mouse scurry along the wall only stopping to stare at me with the all too familiar stare. The soulless stare. The stare that binds me to life and breathes me air, the stare that haunts my slumber. The stare I know to admire and wish never to be without.
In myself the light continuing to die keeps me sane as the stare has almost reached my core.
Even now as I anticipate the return I weep as the light grows more brittle and the eyes burrow deeper. I one day wish to find the eyes that burden me. I feel as though the eyes will one day stare a hole through my body. Though the house of mine grows dimmer the house across seems to gleam. Day to night the eyes seem to find me. As I try to enter a deep slumber my walls that ooze grief keep me woken.
I lay blank, but soon I begin to feel agitated even as the gaze is still there I feel it dull. Not as if it’s not still fixated but as if the eyes are growing uninterested. Though the eyes keep me woken and cause me to feel lowly the feeling of the eyes becoming uninterested picks at me. The thought of being out of notice from even one burdens me. I may dread wanting to know the beholder of the eyes but if I dont they will continue to feast until they are no longer interested. I am hopeful that if I try to seek them they will become even more embedded in me as before.
As days pass the eyes dulling more little by little and my nerve racking more I have decided to visit the house not of mine once again. I had gone to the house not of mine once before it had started, now wishing to go once again for another reason. The house not of mine though bright from the outside it is cold and quite dark on the inside. Truly wishing to find the eyes I am doubtful.
The house not of mine rarely seems to have its door closed all the way as if it’s waiting for me to enter, taunting me. Upon entering a cold gust can be felt along with the smell of rot.
The empty walls continue to collect dust as the smell of decay still protrudes the air but now even worse. The stairs groan with every step while the banister flails.
My conscience grew with each step, truly realizing what I was pursuing. The eyes gaze with ease almost as if they were otherworldly. With each step I could feel the eyes growing more eager along with me. I could feel them as if they were right in front of me, almost like a dog staring at a toy. Even there, there was no sight to be seen. I glanced through every crack and crevice but the eyes were nowhere to be found. It was as if they don’t exist but even as I searched I could still feel them on me.
Even as I look time and time again, nowhere. Had they never existed? Am I deranged? These thoughts swarm me even as I feel them, I know I am not; even now I haven’t once stopped and considered if they were in the house of mine where I had been the most lowly and scattered. Even though the eyes so eager continue to dull though I did something so out there. I wonder if I had did something wrong. Though I despise the fact, I know soon enough the eyes will no longer be fixated on me. Soon I will again have nothing and be nothing. Even as I shred the wall there is nothing to be found. My heart beats briskly, I can feel my hands begin to quiver. The eyes will no longer belong to me and I will be solitary, at least now the house of mine shines as bright as the stars.
