I knew I as in trouble when alI I could see is me, my body, rummaging around on the floor looking for my eyes.
I’m on all fours, my mouth wide, uttering sounds I cannot hear, with my hands erratically patting across the carpet.
Yet I can feel air, cold air, rushing into my sockets heightening my anxiety and pain; striking against nerve endings and what I assume is my brain.
I don’t see blood, but I do see a yellow liquid just below my eyes.
I can’t direct my body here under a chair.
Frantically I search. Sweat beads on my brow.
I need my eyes.
I need my body.
How did this happen?
Oh yes, I remember. I remember now because I can see him.
I can see the figure shrouded in shadow hovering over my back, axe in his left hand.
He removed my eyes.
He plucked them out with a fork.