Innards

She could feel them.
And see them.

A wall of black silhouettes - hundreds, thousands of little black eyes. They all moved independently, irises sliding and swinging as if at random. They looked hand-drawn, like something from a modern art exhibition lamenting government surveillance.

Aside from the wall of eyes, there was nothing. Just the void.

She studied them from afar. Some had eyelashes. Some had pupils. Others had neither. But all shared a single trait - they were just outlines. Thick, uneven lines that formed the boundary between eye and void, shaping each hollow sclera.

Then something strange happened.

One of the eyes caught sight of her.

She saw it turn, distinct among the thousands, staring straight at her. It made her uncomfortable - but that discomfort turned to pure terror when the eye suddenly flared a dull red.

She recoiled. The movement made the wall edge closer.

Another eye locked on. Then another. And another. Like stars flickering to life in reverse, each one found her, one by one, glowing crimson as they did.

Her legs wouldn’t move.

And then she realized - she wasn’t the one moving toward them.
They were moving toward her.

A whisper rose from the void. Too soft to understand, too familiar to ignore. It grew louder, sharper, until the wall seemed to breathe sound itself.

More eyes found her. Each gaze was a weight pressing down, pinning her in place. The whispering grew to shouting, yet even then no single voice could be heard - just the tangled noise of thousands screaming at once.

She clutched her head, fighting for control of her own mind, desperate to wake. She screamed, but her voice made no sound. Her eyelids clamped shut - yet the eyes remained, shining behind them.

She was but a speck in the void.
A speck chosen.
A speck seen.

A target of the eyes.