Τρίτη, 3 Μαρτίου 2009

Eyesaw



-I saw the face of the devil.

It was that of an old man, somewhat Asiatic in his features, an impression underlined all the more by the sickly contour of his skin. Bright, lemon-yellow it was, devoid of wrinkles or other usual defects of the human complexion. His nose, short and stubby, his cheekbones round and protruding, his forehead flat and unmoving -all there, by a set of eyes who were not eyes at all, but two pitch-black holes, miniatures of the void that rules him and is governed by him. Empty were those holes, yet he did own a stare or a gaze -I'm quit uncertain, for in whichever direction he turned, I felt his watchful mind over me. And I know that his eyes were full of raw malice, not of the human kind, but unburdened with any hint of will or knowledge of good. The evil of those eyes was not an evil of choice, it was the only state of existence they knew. There was no hate there, there was no motive or pleasure or purpose -only sickness and harm. Silent he was, but his lips were deep and they studded his undying face deep blue and fluorescent. And indeed, when I stared, I found myself drawn inside them and like oceans they were, but bottomless. They joined each other beneath his skin in a deep well-like maelstrom that lulled me in and drove me through the places where all rainbows end and fade, where all our laws and gods and all exceptions to our logic shrivel and disintegrate. There was the void around me, the void not as the residence of Absence, but the great gulfs of total vacancy, not graced by the will, or mercy, or even knowledge of any god we hold to be benevolent.

-And then?

-Well, then of course I woke.

-From terror I take it.

-Sheer terror and fright at its purest.

-I do not blame you, lad, such sights would sting my spine as well.

-I only wish it was the sights that scared me.

-What was it then?

-Their intimacy.

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