No Stopping for Avalanche!

Last night my brain exploded, and dripped onto the page. This is what was written:

 

Everywhere I look I see eyes. Dark, brooding eyes that pierce deep into the soul, hungry eyes, eyes without purpose or focus or even color. Yet it is the eyes that keep me sane. With out eyes, there is no face, and without a face, there is no identity. The sea may heave and ho, but without eyes, it might as well be steam or glass or slices of the ether. Everywhere, and forever. You see, eyes are forever. Their bodies may decompose, they may roll away, even off the edge of the earth, but they will always find their way

back, like a dog or a small child bouncing down the stairs. As these eyes probe and poke, I whimper, cough, and loose. I see a face without eyes standing before me. A whole face, there is nothing missing, but there are no eyes. And at this moment I am scared. Scared that the face before me could actually be real, scared that the eyes that are not are looking not at me or even in me, but through me, through to the future and the past and the dirty dust bunnies that I swore would never see the light of day. The eyes that are not are pulling my secrets out of me, out in front of me, forcing me to look at them. The pain of the secrets, of regurgitating them, of having them forced out of me, is almost too much to bear. If I were alone, I could shove those secrets under the mat, off the edge, out the window, but no, I am not alone. Not even just me and the face with eyes that are not. The whole world is in bed with me, in my car with me, even behind my ears when I go to sleep. The whole world lies embedded in the words on the page and the pixels on the screen that I surround myself with to escape, but there is no escape. Now that the face with eyes that aren’t has pulled out my secrets, they are there forever. No flattening them, no shredding them, burning them, painting over them, erasing them, no waiting for them to just disappear, as if they were a date on the calendar that came and went, never to be seen from again. I stare at the secrets, and they stare back, with shiny green eyes, eyes much like my own, but with something else, something soft and feminine, powerful and bold, something that is familiar and both comforting and frightening. As my secret’s eyes stare, unblinking, at me, I feel the urge to look away, to close and scream and never open again, but I can not. I can not look away, for the face without eyes has forced me to deal with the secrets with green eyes and scars along their backs, metal instruments and gelatinous pellets and strange pieces of paper that contain nothing but black lines floating like jellyfish around the room. I pull and push, but the window will not open, and I don’t know what to do. Even if the window did open, what then? Where would I jump to? Would I grow a beard, shave it off, marry a grey person with no birthday and drown in my own daze, my own fat and lipids? I start, stop, begin again. The secrets are still there, but now they are untouchable, separated from me by an invisible sheet of orange, orange, orange film. Spinning, I glance around me, not surprised when I find myself missing a limb. What was that? A leg? A tail? Did it ever even belong to me? As I round back to the beginning, I hear a cracking, clinking sound, like the whisper of the wind when the world is asleep. The mirror which couldn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t be there is now only inches from my face, and with an electric jolt I come to the terrifying conclusion that the face with eyes that are not must be my own face, that I pulled my own secrets with green eyes out from under my feet, and now I am alone, alone at last, alone forevermore, alone, alone, alone.