I walked for a while before I had a sudden realization.
I could see.
My eyes, once caked with a heavy yellow substance, were clean. Maybe it all fell off during the fall, I thought to myself. But I wasn't so sure. The covering on my eyes had been there my whole life, and it being removed made me uncannily aware of my surroundings.
Aware enough to feel someone watching me.
I jerked around, my badly cropped hair swooshing in a long arc around my head. But there was no one there. I listened closely, my ears, hearing finely honed from years of almost no sight, craning for a sound, any sound, to assure me that I wasn't hallucinating. I heard none, so continued down the corridor warily, which began to look more high-tech the further I walked through it.
A minute later, I crossed the threshold of stone passage to bright white, gleaming with artificial lights and smelling strongly of household cleaning supplies, the good kind that only the project manager could afford. The tile floors were slippery, waxed until they shone, hurting my eyes more than even the relentless sun above ground had.
Blinded by the light, I didn't see the door until it was an inch from my nose. Small and functional, the circular door had a keypad embedded in it. I looked closer, my eyes coming level with a minuscule peephole in the exact center of the entrance. Odd place for a peephole {supposed to be italicized, but mobile blogger doesn't let me do that}, I thought. Curious, I drew near, and looked through.
And saw an eye staring back at me.
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