My Gaze is Always Cold (Prose)

Some people say my eyes scare them. They say I have the eyes of a killer and it frightens them. The truth is, I know I do and it frightens me too.

Tonight, it is warm and I stand in the bathroom again, in front of my mirror as I stare into them. My gaze is always cold, something alien and lacking life. Unflinching and unforgiving.

In these eyes are the dark of night, deep pits that reflect nothing but the abyss and the bowels of Hell.

I stare into them, remembering the pain and misery of human suffering. I see mouths opened wide in pleas for mercy that fell upon my ears. I see blood and entrails, body parts severed from their masters, scattered about in an abattoir born of rage and frenzy.

I gaze and stand on the precipice of those abyssal pits that are my eyes. I wait for the darkness to rise up and claim me, to swallow me whole and leave nothing of my current self behind. They will fling me into madness and mayhem!

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I doubt that. There is no soul behind these eyes. It withered and died long ago. Instead, there lurks a beast, a demon fueled by primal fury, a wraith that smiles in the inky blackness, biding its time.

I stare. I stare and I know that if I look into these eyes long enough, they will stare back.

I can’t stand it any longer. I cannot bear those penetrating orbs looking back at me!

I close my eyes for a second and when I open them, I catch his gaze. It is cold, unflinching, and unforgiving.

He has the eyes of a killer and their dark irises sit above a smile, one that doesn’t quite match his gaze.

I stare into my mirror now and I can see that my eyes are not all that different from his…Despite this warm night, I suddenly get a chill, sweat trickles down my spine, and I feel my flesh begin to crawl.

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