Dead Eyes
The wind is howlng my name through the trees' outstretched fingers. Leaves floated around the grey and empty sky. My white dress whipped around my stand stung legs. Gravel bit into my feet, bring tears to blind eyes.
The eyeless children's hands were fire and ice eating into my skin, like flesh craving butterflies. A silent scream ripped my throat while tears of ink drip down once rosy cheeks. "We won't hurt you you, " they reason with shrill voices to match the winds mournful cries. I shake my head, calling out their lies. Blackened tears kissed their skin. Hands of fire and ice released discolored flesh.
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No more inky tears, hands of fire and ice, no more eyeless children, I thought. And then dripped one blackened tear from my dead eyes.
Copyright © Ileea Jaramilllo | Year Posted 2013
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