He was cornered.
Completely surrounded on all sides by the eyeless children and utterly alone.
Worse still - they weren't moving.
By now they should have leapt onto him in unison and torn out his eyes so that he could join their ranks or pulled at his limbs until they all came off and half buried them all around him. They had done neither which was both a relief and a concern.
Why was he alive?
He'd seen so many others die by their hands and yet he was able to get a decent look at them all, picking out familiar faces here-and-there. He wondered if they thought he was with them already as he was about their age and twice as silent (as his mum had told him once before she stuffed him into a cupboard and ran as fast as she could to lead them away from him).
Thinking back he realised that he'd never actually seen anyone die. He'd heard it plenty and seen the aftermath but not once in all his years had he actually seen the eyeless children murder. For all he knew they were as innocent as he was.
And perhaps that's why they were letting him live. They had more in common than they had differences and all of them had lost their parents (though the eyeless children may have had a hand in this). All of them were alone in the world save for others like them.
Others like him.
He realised he didn't need the others to take his eyes, not when he could do it himself and show that he was just as much a part of this new world as they were and that they were all they had in this life. One of the children handed him a chance to become part of something much greater than his loneliness.
He took it with both hands.
Completely surrounded on all sides by the eyeless children and utterly alone.
Worse still - they weren't moving.
By now they should have leapt onto him in unison and torn out his eyes so that he could join their ranks or pulled at his limbs until they all came off and half buried them all around him. They had done neither which was both a relief and a concern.
Why was he alive?
He'd seen so many others die by their hands and yet he was able to get a decent look at them all, picking out familiar faces here-and-there. He wondered if they thought he was with them already as he was about their age and twice as silent (as his mum had told him once before she stuffed him into a cupboard and ran as fast as she could to lead them away from him).
Thinking back he realised that he'd never actually seen anyone die. He'd heard it plenty and seen the aftermath but not once in all his years had he actually seen the eyeless children murder. For all he knew they were as innocent as he was.
And perhaps that's why they were letting him live. They had more in common than they had differences and all of them had lost their parents (though the eyeless children may have had a hand in this). All of them were alone in the world save for others like them.
Others like him.
He realised he didn't need the others to take his eyes, not when he could do it himself and show that he was just as much a part of this new world as they were and that they were all they had in this life. One of the children handed him a chance to become part of something much greater than his loneliness.
He took it with both hands.
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