There’s a monster in my eye. He’s been there for a while. He sits where I used to see, but now I don’t see so well anymore.
He doesn’t eat, or drink. But he laughs. In the night, sightless, I create demons for my dreams. He finds them funny. They do not frighten him. They are frightened of him.
No one can see him. Not even I can. But I feel him, alright. I feel him moving, a feather-soft scrape across my iris. A tease. A taste. He can do so much more.
I tried to get rid of him, once. I tugged at my lid and lashes and rubbed the fleshy socket until I saw stars. In sleep I clawed at my eyeballs until blood wept from me. I rinsed my hands raw. I spoke of nothing but the pain. I stayed in my room and saw no one.
He lingered on, a stubborn eyelash out of my reach. I don’t have to see anymore; he does that for me. It’s a relief, in a way. For someone to take that burden. That’s what he tells me, at least. My body, being colonised from the eyes down. Who knows what he will take next?
I don’t know when he came, and I don’t know when he’ll leave. But he likes it here, for now.
My sight will not suffice for him, one day.
But yours might.
A piece of flash fiction inspired by an eyelash; art courtesy of @OneStopSupplyCF.