World Eater

54

IT WAS MORNING. Sariel awoke to silence, which was a welcome change.

Cautious, he stood, the old floorboards groaning as Sariel crept into the kitchen. The kitchen was still, to an unearthly extent. Everything was perfectly in place.

Even though Sariel knew he had ransacked the cabinets last night.

Maybe I cleaned up? Sariel thought, mouth twisting into a frown.

Shaking his head, Sariel lowered himself onto the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. He become painfully aware of how quiet it was.

Hadn't he left the television on?

His position on the couch became unbearable. Skin crawling, he shuffled back into the kitchen, rubbing an irritated rash on his arms. Overnight, parts of his flesh had turned dry and flakey, more like scales than skin.

He turned, and Sariel’s breath caught in his throat.

Sitting on the dining room table was a single bloodshot eyeball, its dull pupil directed at Sariel. Sariel stood, jaw slack, unsure how to even react. The palms of his hands began to burn.

He grimaced as images suddenly ran through his brain- he had seen these eyeballs before, hundreds of them, thousands of them. He was running through a forest, the trees speeding past down below him. Through the darkness, he saw another pair of eyes, striking and vibrant, just like-

Sariel rubbed his forehead, feeling the heat gather on his palms. Just like who? Who was he forgetting? His spine tingled, a foreign sensation spreading out behind his back.

He could almost feel wings.

Sariel grabbed his head, trying to ease the splitting ache between his temples.

“Everything is okay,” he said aloud, trying to ground himself, “Everything is going to be fine.”

At the top of the stairs, Sariel saw the light turn on.