Antichrist (Frerard)

2: The Kind Of Seeing Where You See Nothing, And Consequently, Everything

"You can't just go off gallivanting like that, Frank. You know your grandfather and I warned you not to for a very good reason and this display of 'teenage dominance' has done nothing but prove us right in the belief that your mind is damaged by loss and you need to see clearly once again." The nineteen year old gave a vague nod in a generalised gesture intended only for her complacency in the matter of reciprocation of her words and as some sort of masquerade of interest in the endless and trivial lectures his grandmother subjected him to on almost a daily basis since he'd snuck out when explicitly instructed not to.

Frank had no intentions of coming off as an unreasonably moody and generally untrustworthy teenager, and more so of a respect worthy, independent young adult in a terrible situation and living with terrible people in a terrible town.

The town was just so terrible that Frank had in fact began to deem the darkened figure he'd spotted in the graveyard on the evening he'd disobeyed rules and broken his grandparents trust, only to have the shit scared out of him by what Frank's common sense would instruct him to label as nothing more than a trick of his sleep and nicotine deprived brain, or perhaps just some kids messing about, or perhaps nothing at all. 

Perhaps all Frank had seen was a normal human being stood at the graveyard gates and what Frank had really seen was far too many horror movies.

But.

There was always was a but, and for once Frank was plagued by gratitude; desperately clutching at the only excitement remaining a town that stunk of bigots and smoke, even if it was just a trick of an overactive and severely underused imagination, or perhaps, even worse, that wasn't the case at all.

There was no lie in the fact that Frank had toyed with the possibility of there being something more to the figure; he couldn't blame himself - his stomach just wouldn't settle and his mind wouldn't focus on anything but the black smoke and the unmissably human aura, and the unsettling gut clenching feeling that despite the fact his eyes told him human, everything else didn't.

Frank opened his eyes wide, fixating upon the horizon that slowly fell behind him out the window of his grandfather's prized vintage car, imagining the figure and placing him into the crowd of people outside, placing him into the world and he came like an instinct - a human body, dressed in a dark suit and long black hair draped over his face, giving me no clues as to just what secrets he hide in the grin he flashed him when nobody was looking.

He.

Frank wasn't sure how he'd assigned the figure gender, but masculinity seemed to fit the figure haunting his every thoughts.

Frank blinked, dismissing the figure he'd drawn up amongst the citizens, rubbing his eyes a little as he couldn't help but shake the notion that the place where he'd stood seemed to cast an everlasting shadow, almost as if he'd left himself in spirit behind. Frank blinked again; shaking off the shivers that ran down his spine with the mental reminder that he was in fact the one who'd placed the figure there in the first place.

It was all in his head anyway... not that Frank would deem that the safest of places at all.

But as his eyes seemed to catch in their sockets for a prolonged moment; his vision fading and darkness wrapping around him as he eyelids stayed shut - forced shut, either by the press of ethereal fingertips or the gut feeling that had rendered Frank's appetite practically none existent recently. And Frank didn't know which unnerved him more at all.

And then in the self concocted darkness he saw the figure once more, but this was a different type of 'seeing'. This was sight without your eyes, the kind of seeing where you noticed not their clothing and face but the falter in their smile and the nervous twitch as they stumbled over words - it was the type of seeing where your eyes couldn't distract you.