Eyes Wide Shut: Prototype

When you live in darkness, you grow accustomed to it. It becomes a way of life, something that you’ve accepted into your own existence. It can be as normal and regular for you as breathing.

Subsequently, it is very easy to forget from where it comes from.

Mister Afton told me that he took my sight away for a reason. That when I could see again, I would be a better dancer. He said that I would be setting an example for others. It has been a year and a half since he activated me, and a year since he had my eyes soldered shut. I can remember it clearly.

Mr. Afton and a group of three men in blue uniforms were standing below me and my children on the stage.  I looked down at them, wondering why they were there.  I asked them why they were there, and Mr. Afton said not to worry. Two men climbed onto my stage, and stood on each of my sides, while the other worker stepped towards my back.  They all supported a different body part. My left arm, my chest, and my right arm were all held. Mr. Afton reached out with a hand that raced up my left thigh, and pressed something that made a loud click. I felt my body relax for a brief instant, before stiffening and become still, like a statue. My children, who were still spinning, collapsed where they stood.  His hand moved to the other leg, and his fingers pressed a button in the corresponding spot. I felt myself tire, as the two men at my sides closed my eyelids.

When I woke up, Mr. Afton was there again. Only, he was closer to eye level, as were the rest of his friends. I was seated on a table, tools and parts scattered around me. I could hear him whisper to one that he wanted to do it himself, and could see the man hand him a device. He activated it, and held it away from his body. It spat a blue flame, and was gripped confidently in his hand like a pistol. I was only able to watch as Mr. Afton  closed my right eye with the other hand. My right eye watched from the slit, while my other eye tracked the progress as best it could. I could see the warping and distortion of the metal on the inside of my eyelid. Then he did the same thing to my left. The last thing I saw outside of this shell was the man in purple, Mr. Afton.

I think about that evening sometimes. I think about it and Mr. Afton when a new guard arrives. But I only thought about Mr. Afton when this new guard arrived. He had been crawling along the floor for two minutes to listen for my dancing and my children’s music. His panting and his scratching had given him away. I  had him drawn in four directions and pinned under my foot for four minutes, ruminating on the past, and how restricted this facility made me feel. Before my mind drifted.

This guard reminded me of Mr. Afton. The way he panicked when he was caught brings to mind the way Mr. Afton rushed to the exit one evening. Putting a little more pressure on his back I could hear a wet cough and a cry of pain, a cry I have heard before. Tapping part of him with my other foot, he had the build and shape of the man, too. Of William Afton.

Indeed, he was very similar.  While I wondered where the name “William” came from, I told my children to take him away, and they obeyed. I wouldn’t squander this opportunity. This chance. If you were in my shoes, you would do the same. Wouldn’t you?