Those Eyes

Those eyes. Dark, deep as an ocean, frigid as a glacial drift yet far more powerful, they captured time itself in their infinite grasp. The horrific picture before them remained still, chiseled into marble, forever burnt into the soul of the beholder, proof of the inevitable fall of man. Tacit waves of terror emanated from their core and ebbed into the static winter air. Silent, still, too weak to rush off with its secrets, the wind was bound to the icy ground by the weight of the inhumanity it surrounded. Cracked cement, cold, broken, and bleak, gazed gravely into the sky, beckoning the wandering clouds, drawing them to its surface and holding them close to catch the falling blood. The drab brickwork of the alley walls glistened with tears as the violence ensued, the buildings weeping over the hatred they could not understand. The faint glow of celestial bodies illuminated the sin, a Bosch painting splashed upon dirty canvas, framed with stone and steel, stained with blood and tears.1

She wanted to move. She tried to move. She tried to scream for help but her body was as petrified as the sight before her, nothing moving except her eyes, frantically flashing from hooded demon to hooded demon. They quivered, tiny pools of poisoned azure forming where neat streaks of black once were, crying out for relief from anywhere. Her eyes pleaded for the rest of her body to answer their call. With turbulent disarray her eyes pulsed and throbbed as the crime only increased, the piercing dissonance of constant bludgeoning clawing at her sanity.2

Her eyes closed.3

All at once the wind raged, the ground trembled, the fog lifted, and the buildings bent toward each other as the dim radiance of the stars intensified. Her entire body tightened, her soul reverberating off every inch of its shell to break out, and her body seemed to convulse before offering all that she could muster.
A solitary whimper escaped her lips.4

Those eyes. Murky, deep as the shadows of shameful spite, frigid as the corners of the universe yet far more distant, they stopped the hearts of man with their adamant stare. Slowly, as the hand of a sundial, they turned, casting their ominous glare upon a truly pitiful picture. A young woman, much like a child, stood with her toes pointed inward as her paper-white knees touched, the sound of their chattering almost reaching his isolated empathy. She trembled like a child of abuse, her body lightly quaking as her innocence dripped like blood from her quivering lips, feebly pressed together in a futile attempt to stave off tears. Her mahogany hair, though pulled back tightly had begun to fall, draping over the sides of her face and framing her shadowed eyes in a jagged, splintering border.5

The sight was pathetic, yes, but his eyes remained obdurate, the fire of hate still burning hot within them. He began approaching the miserable illustration, breaking out of the chiseled marble form to step into reality, his presence finally seeming tangible. Circles of black seemed to coil from his feet as he took each step, every stride seeming slower and more drawn out than the first as he satisfyingly watched his new prey shrink with every inch he gained. As he slowly approached the cornered victim, the waning light of the moon revealed more and more of her face, white with fear and glossy with seeping panic, a shadow still covering her eyes. At the end of every swing of his legs the thud of his thick black boots seemed to echo louder and louder, as if God himself was walking away down a huge corridor, abandoning her in the trophy room of Hell as her assailant approached.6

He lifted his huge paw and cupped the side of her face, his claws reaching across her bare, pasty neck. Her fate at the mercy of his large, leather-gloved hands, his eyebrows narrowly ascended, his eyes widening with sinister insanity. The corners of his mouth rose as he watched a tear collide defiantly with his charcoal gauntlet and freeze directly to its rigid abhorrence. As this happened, a smile stretched across his face so wide and trenchant that a rusty, blood soaked pitchfork might have shuddered at its brandish. His hand turned upward slightly, gently bringing their eyes together.7

He stopped.8

His desire terminated, his body completely paralyzed as the very embodiment of imploring distress stared back up at his hardened visage. The exact shape of wretched sorrow as it should be described formed her eyes. The seamless bending of her eyebrows and the delicate bow of her eyelashes framed her eyes perfectly, flawless diamond orbs. Modest puddles of cloudy sapphire turned to welling pools of ashen transparency as the thickening iris shivered, murmuring in taciturnity.9

Please.10

The glowing embers of his soul extinguished, the attacker stepped back slowly, his mouth agape and his eyes still staring dumbly into the abyss, the doom of his power. He had been robbed of his strength, the heat of his hatred frozen, steam still rising from his brow. He began back pedaling, his steps becoming more and more frantic as the pitiful picture faded, the eyes remaining burned into the back of his mind. He turned and ran, not bothering to grab his accomplices, who followed shortly after. They all rushed away in a black phalanx, their pounding steps like fading thunder in the valley.11

Those eyes. Dull, hazy as the morning mist, calm as the settling fog yet far more lifeless, they enraptured only parasites of life. They stared impassively upward, bleeding tears of black and white that splashed onto the grim cement, the only evidence of pain that was present. The ground now a checkered mess of red and black, it summoned the clouds, pouring forth like black satin. The celestial bodies hid their eyes behind these veils; now afraid to see what was left once the ash had been washed away. Gazing down upon the smear of life, the clouds studied the paths of darkness and the pain left behind. They shook their heads in disbelief and sobbed, their simple, cleansing tears falling placidly to rinse the violated ground of the stains of malice.12

She sat looking up, amazed at the clouds. The drops of rain were warm and pleasant despite the freezing winter atmosphere, settling easily on her skin, washing the sting from her eyes, the frost from her brow, and the blood from her hands. She huddled among the weeping buildings, holding her limp fiancé in an attempt to embrace him back to life, her tears mixing with the rain to soften his icy skin. She rocked lightly, cradling the lifeless soul in her arms and gently whispering in hollow peace.13

Please.14

Her eyes fell on sparse puffs of grey that escaped his swollen lips; in resolution they finally eased.