Writing Prompt: Wishing on your 50th birthday that you had perfect eyesight as your eyes begin to fail you, in a flash of vibrant colors you suddenly begin to see monstrous creatures, other dimensions, and multiple realities all invisible to the naked eye.
Let me describe to you the beauty of sight. To see the light, the colour of the world, the green of fresh cut grass, the pink of budding blooms. In sense alone not taste nor sound nor smell come close. To see outshines them all.
I had been blessed, though I scarcely think I knew it, with a sight that long unwarranted most aid. Birth, until my later years, gave eyes that witnessed all; the sky, the seas, the climbing trees, the sands of soft built dunes. In and of my time I’d been a traveler, for sight is meant for seeing. Great pyramids of dusted stone, dense jungle ripe with life. Vast cavernous escapes below, and mountain tops so high. Of all these I can safely say, few sights outdo them all. To see the sunset (or to rise), to see your love come autumns fall.
Perhaps you might agree, that sight by far can be the truest of companions. A gift to which I gave no thought… until at last the light began to fade. Fifty. Say again? I deny it, not at all. Fifty! What an age to reach. And old does make a fool.
Now with those lights down low, the beauty of the world in throws… of shadow… I had a single wish to make.
God, or Gods, whomever might be listening. I beg, one gift from you. I plead! I do. Ha! One gift. How about a lifetime? And so greed gave my restless wanting. A curse. Whoever would have thought it? Sight. To see. A curse.
As out the candles blew my eyes began to itch, to leak and pool with blood. Then came a flash of golden light, a fire wrought upon my mind’s own eye.
See this, if you’d refuse mere beauty. See what gift the Gods above bestowed.
Grey! The colour of the world behind its natural curtain. Forgive emotion, forgive our Mother first of Nature. Grey! Is all I see.
Invisible monstrosities to which our mind’s eye rapidly does close. Shadows creep across the ceiling, sea beasts swarm the floor. Some large, insectile critter, with legs that pinch so sourly my skin, begins to growl, a guttural sound that gargles from its throat. Imagine that, the horror! Winged demons from above, no Heaven in the skies, just clouds of grey that wither away and slowly burn to Hell.
I see him, I see it, the producer of my curse. Engraved upon my eyeballs, a searing pain upon my heart. This is no life, this is no light, to see the Gods damnations. All legs, all teeth and fiery eyes, hair prickling bodies slick with grime. I feel the heavy breathing, the stampede of desperate feet.
I see them and they see me, and he or it shall let them feast.
Copyright © K R Perry 2019