Switching to contact lenses was an act of vanity. My belief was that appearances are everything. Well, I’m paying the price for that vanity now. But so are you. Because appearances aren’t everything. Seeing those things will be no defence from them.
My eyesight had been deteriorating for so long and I was fed up with the ever-increasing thickness of my glasses. Hell, I was putting on more weight, losing even more hair, so I figured I was allowed something that would give me back a bit of self-esteem.
After six months of regular use the optician told me that I couldn’t wear them anymore. Build up of proteins or something. By this time I was so used to the lenses, so happy to leave the Coke-bottom glasses behind, that I didn’t want to part with them.
So I sourced them from somewhere else. Not a reputable supplier, but the prescription was spot on. The vision was perfect – even better than the lenses given to me by my optician.
Too perfect. Because I found I could see things that I couldn’t before. Things that you can’t see.
I can see the shadow-creatures that hover over you. I can even see what passes for faces on them, and their alien smiles as they enter your bodies and take you over. What happens after that you’ve read in the papers and the police reports.
I gave up trying to warn you people. I just walked on by and let things take their own course. I don’t even hear your screams anymore.
Like everything else with wearing contact lenses I just got used to it. Just as I got used to the itching and the constant dryness in my eyes whenever I put the lenses in. Even the sharp, stabbing pain was bearable. For a while, anyway.
One thing I couldn’t get used to was taking the lenses out. They seemed to stick to the cornea, reluctant to come away. Each day that passed I found it harder, until one day I found that I couldn’t take the lenses out anymore.
I tried prodding the lens with an index finger and there was nothing there. The contacts weren’t merely fixed to the surface of the eyeballs. They’d passed through completely.
Last night the pain increased. It became unbearable. I rubbed and rubbed the eyes until…well, until there was nothing left.
So now I’m wearing glasses again, dark ones this time to hide the emptiness of my eyeless sockets. The irony hasn’t escaped me. The price of vanity.
You’d think I wouldn’t be able to see the shadow-things through my wall of darkness. But I can. I can still see them, because they are creatures that are darker than blindness itself.
Be thankful you can’t see them. And understand why I walk past you when they make contact. They know I can see them. They’ll make a move on me if I stop to help.
Like me, you’re on your own.