I scream.

   I can't think of anything else to do but scream. And what scares me even more than the red eyes themselves is that I can't hear anything. Just silence, weighing me down until I feel like breaking.

   The eyes, which have been slowly gliding towards me through the whiteness, suddenly rush forward so I thrust my hands out in front of me to protect myself. But nothing hits them.

   The silhouette is growing more solid, more real, with every passing second now, and it stands in front of me, watching me. It's tall and broad and it stands with its head tilted down at me, its fists clenched, its whole body tense and rigid. I can see nothing of its face except the glowing eyes, and still they stare at me. Why won't they stop staring at me?

   Its shortish hair is tousled around in a breeze that I can't feel, can't hear, and it stretches its hand out towards me. I don't know what to do: should I take its hand? Should I hit it away? Should I continue cowering in fear just as I'm doing right now?

   But I soon find out what the figure is doing.

   Its hand grabs my loose plait and pulls me up off the floor, until I'm being held up by my hair. I try desperately to hit it away; I kick, punch, claw the arm but my efforts are fruitless. The figure feels no pain. And it's lack of emotion makes my heart jump in fear.

   Next it clutches my right arm with its spare hand, and bends it behind my body, further and further backwards while my silent screams grow more and more desperate. I feel it splinter and crack, and I think the figure senses it too because then it lets my arm go, and it falls to my side, limp and swaying in the non-existant wind.

   Tears are streaming down my face in turrents now; the pain is like nothing I've ever experienced, worse than all the times I've ever been hurt put together. I yell at it to stop, I beg it, I promise it anything it wants, but still it shows no feeling. And, bloody hell, that scares me.

   It throws me onto the cold, white floor, so that I land on my broken arm and scream silently until my throat is sore, and I just want it all to end. I'd rather die than carry on suffering like this. But I know my torment is still far from over because the beast towers over me, its bloody eyes still searching for something inside me. I don't know what. If I could give it to him now and end my torture, I would - whatever it is.

   The figure's hand is stretched out again, this time towards my face, and I can feel my heart hammering my ribcage like it's trying to escape. A finger and thumb are moved towards my left eye, and suddenly my stomach churns with a kind of sick realization. Or anticipation.

   It squeezes my eyeball in between its finger and thumb, gently at first to get a hold of it, and no matter what I do I can't pull its arm away, can't even blink anymore. Then it does what I had been dreading; it slowly lifts my eye up and out of its socket, much to my horror and revulsion. It seems to be doing it softly, and I wonder why until it gives a sharp pull and I feel something snap. Then half my vision is gone and it hurts like hell.

   I want to fight back, I want to hurt the creature: tease it, torment it, torture it just as it's doing to me. I want to kill it.

   But I'm too weak and in too much pain. All I can do is lie there helplessly while the figure watches me with its firey eyes. Why won't it stop watching me?

The End

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