A V U L T U R E ' S E YE S.
When it happened, I felt every bone in my body. I felt them, one by
one, lighting on fire within me. I could feel my collarbone, my ribs.
Everything shattering before me. To be incredibly honest with you,
I was scared. It’s natural, I guess. It hurt so much. I didn’t have any
other things to feel. I awoke to darkness.
She turned on a light. It did not set ease to my mind when that
light lit the room. Perhaps it was because I could not see the source
of it, even when I stared where it was brightest. Maybe I thought that because
I was injured. People who are hurt imagine things. I turned, slowly, from
where I was standing in the center of a perfectly square room. She hovered
like a vulture, a bird of prey in the corner. She was waiting. The first thing
I noticed were the eyes. Dreadful. I can’t tell you their color. I can’t describe
it. All I know is they glared into me, like a beast unto its prey.
“Who are you?” My voice was bland, like the rough wood of a picket fence.
“I am your death.” Her reply was soft and yet sharp, like the vulture’s feather.
Can you understand that?
I can.
So here we stood, the fenced-in soul eyeing the blood-seeking bird with
a nervousness only a dead man could muster. I put my hand to my heart.
It was not beating.
“Where am I?” I asked.
There was no response.
