Mx Chimeric

eyes on the wall again. this time a single pair, floating above my bed. my brother finds it difficult to grip the pencil, so the eyes are not perfect circles but lopsided, with grey pupils. even so I feel the air heavy with another presence. the house is covered in eyes: peeking over to the plugs in the hallway, carefully monitoring our ascent and descent on the staircase.

my brother won't talk about what the eyes are for. whether they are supposed to belong to him, or someone else. 

the eye is the first circle. the shape of the eye makes our horizon, the second circle. without end, the horizon and the eye tessellate the real with the imagined. patterns repeated in nature, in humans, and on walls.

i wonder. do we both stand before mirrors, snatch passing glimpses of our reflection during our days, just to see our alien eyes looking back at us, strange. 

does my brother too shudder at how unnatural it feels to be in our own presence.

does he sense how powerful it is to be the one who looks.

can he know the deeper mystery of turning those eyes further inward. to imagine ourselves in spite of what we see.

Hi I write feminist alt-fiction and I hope you like it. They/Them.