🔵 By Thomas Riffenburg. Photo by lauragrafie.
I feel like I’m standing in the middle of an open field, trees, thick with number surrounding me on all sides. The air is still, heavy with a thickness that makes each breath a labor, and quiet, uncomfortably silent. The only sound to be heard is that of my making, the quickened heartbeat, the raspy struggle for breath, the fidgeting as I jerk here and there from the sense of dread that seems to grow heavier upon me t each passing second.
As I look around, I begin to notice the eyes, angry eyes, peering at me with an undeniable wrath of intensity. Their look shortens my breath to a mere wisp as I freeze in a state of frightened horror. I try to look away, but everywhere I look I see eyes, thousands and thousands of angry eyes, puncturing my very spirit with their sharp dagger glances. I flee, to where I knew not, but instinctually I go towards the cover of the tees, seeking will all of my being for their cover, for I must hide! I must escape this terrible sight upon me. But the trees, o the trees, they refuse to come closer. Faster, harder I run, with a panicky strength do I run towards them, but never any closer do I come to them, in any direction I turn, it is only within the middle of the clearing do I stay.
Exhausted with fright I stop trying to run, my eyes go here and there in a desperate attempt to find a look of sympathy, of love, of anything other than the hateful anger which cuts deep within my chest like a sword plunged, but I find only the angry eyes. For a brief moment my courage pours through me, and I stand steadier upon my feet, the heat of righteous anger warming my cold chest, and with the strength of pride I yell out to my accusers, “What do you want from me!”… but their eyes don’t answer, they just continue to stare at me, with their cold, angry stare…