clawing

He was clawing his eyes out. He tried to. It wouldn’t work. He was coming close. He could feel the warm blood on his forehead. Sticky. Making its way down his eyes. He opened them, let out a growl, then a frustrated scream. It was still the same. Something was wrong with him. Something was wrong with his eyes. He opened them again, nothing happened. One eye opened, the other shuttered open, and then closed. Maybe it was in his head. Maybe his eyes were fine. Insidious. A worm. Crawling, it’s end wriggling delight as it dig holes and tunnels in the furrows of his brain, permanently damaging it. Maybe that was it. He could see through one eye, the other was now closed. It was numb. The good one felt raw, rubbed, searing marks in it, on it, in his skull. He grabbed his head, tried to pull it apart. What if he exploded. He wanted to. His head wanted to explode. Through the good eye, he saw shades of grey, and he knew somehow instinctively, whites that were heat signatures. There were his footsteps, fast fading. There was the speck of white buzzing about the air. What was happening to him? Where did the color go? He grabbed his head, and tried to pull it apart. He already had a headache from all the confusion. It had been sudden. Maybe if he’d been given time to adjust. But he had closed his eyes for a few brief seconds, and there it was. Just like that. Thermal. The world in shades of black and white. The positive? No, he didn’t want to think of one. He wanted for things to go back to the way they were. He was comfortable, he had been comfortable then. This was new. This was concerning. This was alarming. The scent, at least he could still smell, sure, he could still smell, but that was how it had been before. All he saw was a big minus. Seven colors of the rainbow minuses, in fact. Seeing all his color was gone. The scent of germaniums hung heavy. The sound of the fly as it buzzed around his ears now. The fan whirring calmly, unperturbed. How could anyone not care? He almost screamed. Inside his head, he was. Why was everything so normal. Except, for him, it wasn’t.  He could taste the blood on his tongue. It felt red. Yet, he knew if he looked at himself in a mirror, he would only see shades of white, it was hot blood. The wooden floor was dusty underneath him. Rough from the dust and hair. It had not been cleaned in a while. He grabbed his ears, “arghhhhAAAAAAAAA” a big scream as he tore his left ear off. Blood spurting. He looked to his left, he felt off balance, spray of white, splashes, puddles of white on the floor. Fast turning grey. The blood was losing warmth. He felt dizzy, disoriented. The spurts continued, slowed, and then stopped.