Writing on the Wall #1

This is Writing on the Wall – a discussion page where you can show us your writing!

This week, we invite you, in 100 words or less, to post your reply to the following prompt:

They tell me my eyes are made of glass.

Comment below with your stories! We look forward to reading them.

12 comments

  1. I thought I’d see the way you do.
    With elaborate exploding colors and complex textures running across every surface making sense of objects I’d once had to identify through touch or echolocation. So long as I ignored the coldness of my own artificial eyes I existed in a new world.
    Then I looked into a mirror.
    In my blindness I’d idealized myself. But the horrible thing staring back was the truth.
    Now, I have ripped them from their sockets, if only to escape it, but by night it returns to me. The image grafted onto my identity, impossible to separate.

  2. They tell me my eyes are made of glass. This is why they feel the need to constantly protect me from the dangers of the world. Glass has moments of resilience, but all it really takes is one good whack and my eyes could shatter into a million tears, forever leaving me in darkness.

  3. tell me that my eyes are glass and I will tell you that they are water swamp sick and gator jawed optic nerves rooted with cypress Spanish moss swirling over tears left to rot in its own filth rimmed in the thick of mosquito’s red daughter you say I am as unfeeling as hard shelled crabs with chipped claws and no meat so you cut your motor boat across my face hunting for a sausage to bring home to the missus I know you’re a goddamn trap but I’m still looking up at every chicken you dangle from a stick

  4. I blink awake, finding the world darker than before. I blink again. And again. The panic hits quickly – my muscles tense, my breathing comes in spurts. I blink more violently, convinced I must be doing it wrong. Voices shout at me, inaudible under the thud of my heartbeat. Then silence.
    I wake up again and they explain: my insurance denied the cybernetic eyes I was promised. Instead, the only option was glass. I feel the cold, useless orbs rattle as I shake my head. I want to cry, but cannot. The darkness seeps inside me.
    Life has lost all color.

  5. Your eyes are made of glass
    A window to your soul
    Frosted over by the chill of time

    Your skin is made of paper
    Full of possibility
    But much too fragile

    Your heart was made of honey
    But your mind was nicotine
    Getting me fat, unable to say no

    Your love was made of promises
    Every one kept
    Except those we never got to.

  6. My eyes, made of glass
    Show vividly the surrounding world

    From the hand cut mountains
    To the wild running creek

    My eyes, made of glass
    Allow me to be truly awakened.

  7. “Yes, Susie, the doctors gave you very pretty glass eyes,” said Dad. “They’re deep green. Your favorite color.”

    “It’s a shame you can’t see them,” said Sam, sniggering.

    Mom smacked Sam in the back of the head. “Be nice to your litter sister. She just woke up from her surgery.”

    Dad quickly changed the subject. “Don’t worry, it will only be a few years until you get working robot eyes!”

    “I don’t want to be a robot…” said Susie, with a sniffle.

    “Your father misspoke, dear—they’ll be magic eyes,” said Mom.

  8. They tell me my eyes are made of glass.
    They should know, they built me.
    Staring in a mirror,
    I’m caught.
    Glass looking at glass.
    Human eyes I see.
    But what do I know,
    I’m not.

    They tell me my eyes are made of glass.
    Connected to a human past.
    Not looking out from a living mind,
    But from a reflection of humankind.
    Glass looking at glass,
    A human soul I see
    But what do I know,
    I’m not.

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