Aletheia Tinea


They know

The eyes stare and creep out of the sockets, leap from the skulls. They fall to the floor, slime and goo running down the slouching cheeks from the black void abysses. The eyes still stare. Spring tiny feet, arachnids’ feet. Slowly, disjointedly crawling, slime trails behind them, towards me. All the colours, creeping closer, reaching for me. I run into a corner, close my lids, receding into myself, folding into where everything is dark, and nothing can reach. The shadows trick me into peeking. I look through my hair; one blue eye has reached my foot. Rooted, I want to squish it, but my will freezes and the screams scratch and rip my insides and tear my throat and pull apart my vocal chords but still the little blue eye creeps and crawls and climbs my leg with its furry little spider legs and it reaches my shoulder and whispers

I know

and the slime and goo slide up my cheek and the legs push my eye rolling it back into my head and the little blue eye climbs in the socket looking into my brain seeing everything and hating the ugliness almost as much as i do
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