Can't see, won't see, no no no

You scream.

You scream and claw at your face. You can't stop. It hurts, it burns, it licks all over you as you struggle through it.

Even if you come through this alive, if you come through it and history calls you a winner, you know you'll never see again. You felt your eyes pop under your own nails.

You can't stop screaming.

Your eyes dribble over your lids, your voice goes hoarse and trails off. You can feel your jaw work, chewing up your lips, your tongue, blood flowing down your throat, choking you on yourself.

It doesn't matter. You hold on, hold, hold them close, hold them tight, fingers wrapped around their throat...

You feel them shudder... go slack. You don't let go. You can't let go. There's nothing in your world now except the darkness and the shrinking space between your hands.

You scream, until others find you.

Focus and you can feel them

I'm going to put worms in your eyes.

What?!

Not big worms, or anything. They won't kill you. Or even hurt you!

But... why?

They'll be tiny, in fact. And they'll live in your eyes.

Oh god!

You'll feel them, sometimes. Maybe see them, when they swim in front of your retina.

Augh!!!

And who knows? Maybe they'll die off, and you'll have DEAD worms in your eyes. Or they'll do well, and breed, and breed... until you can't see for all the worms. In your eyes.

Oh... oh god... please, no...

Shh... shh. You can't do anything about it. Soon, you'll have worms, squirming and swimming in your eyes. Living, dying. Mm.

No... I... please...

Shh...

Pleasant scents applied too heavily

Large and hairless and clammy.

Pasty, pale... unblemished and all the more grotesque for it.

He is gentle, sickeningly light and puffy when he brushes against you.

He brushes against you frequently.

Your skin crawls every time and you dread the day you should ever get used to it.

You have a knife picked out for that day.

You haven't decided who it's for, though. You keep putting that off.

The pleasure of your company

Shh...

Hm?

Shh... sh. I want to hear this.

...

Ahh... I love that.

Heh. I can tell.

Oh, hush!

Well, you do this every time. It's not hard to pick up on.

It's just so- I just love it. How can you not?

I like it! I do. Just... not as much as you.

Philistine.

I prefer "not obsessed."

...

Oh, don't pout.

...

Hey. Hey. Come here.

...

You know, I still love you, right?

... yeah.

Good. Because I do. And now I'll hush up, since it's still going on.

Thanks...

Mmm.