by Jen Ellwyn
Babies often scream and cry, though few people ever bat an eye. Even less think to wonder why. More commonly, it is custom for strangers to ignore the racket. But if those people knew the reason for the child’s screams… if they knew what sight the infant was helpless to endure… then surely they’d be screaming too.
In the central point of a bustling terminus, one such infant screamed. And screamed. And screamed. His head bobbed with his mother’s guided bounce, but he remained unconsoled by her warm shushes. After briefly resting his aching vocal cords, the baby lifted its head to look over his mother’s shoulder. A great heave of air curled and belted from his small lungs once more, and his eyes almost closed from the mighty pressure of his scream.
The child could still see it. He was the only one who could. And it only saw him.
The figment loomed at the other end of the great hall. Its eye sockets glowed hollow and white, burning with retina-piercing light as it bore an unyielding stare into the infant’s psyche.
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