My stories. Story for the eye.

Story for the eye

The flat allusion with Bataille is intentional, but quite wrong. Once in my sleep I saw a fork. The gleam of light that was coming from it annoyed one of my eyes. The other one was blind. The blind one, due to a surplus of untapped potential, has acquired sensitivity over time. From the neglect of the light towards the eye, it started crying.
The tears were used as a slide, and it slid on them down to the plate where the fork was.
The sighting eye looked at the blind eye and envied him, because he was himself a part of an organism and a mere function, and the eye on the plate was free from this dependence.
The whole process went through my mind. I had to decide - which eye to rescue from the pain. I took the fork, stuck it in the blind eye and ate it.
It understood what I did and cried once more, this time in my stomach. Cried for days. Continuously.
Little droplets appeared on my skin. My belly was swollen. As I spoke, a drop of tears drifted from my mouth. That's why I stopped talking.
From the silence I swelled even more. My size grew enormously and I filled the whole space in my sleep. If the dream was a balloon, it burst.
It burst and poured into reality. As I woke up, I was wet. There was a child's crying outside. The whole room was flooded. I will not exaggerate if I say I swam in it. I will be very precise if I say I was drowning. The room was full of water. The water poured out the window of the home as a tear. I fell with her and collided with the cement. Just next to the child. It stopped crying. He turned his head to me. He was blind, but he smiled and said mysteriously, "The eyes are a window to the soul, you're out of yours."
I woke up again. I was expecting to find myself in my bed, but to my dread I was still stuck on the asphalt. Death and life were blinking to each other.