Eyes. He could feel them watching. Thousands of eyes, ready to scrutinize him, to track his every move, to judge him. Eyes hidden in the dark, yet alert.
Liquid eyes, curious, hungry with desire.
So many eyes, different yet alike, as if they belonged to a single entity.
“I see holes like eyes.” Where had he heard that phrase? Maybe he hadn’t heard it at all—maybe he’d read it somewhere.
“The face-crowd.” Another expression he remembered reading, perhaps in the same book—or maybe not. A different text, but by the same author. The crowd was ready, their faces full of eyes, poised to savor his slow agony.
