Makoto's head had been hurting for a while—ever since the eyes had appeared. The pain and disturbing nature of the whole event had driven him to leave his room (after splashing water on his face in his bathroom had done nothing to help). It's just a dream, he tells himself, even though his own thoughts seemed to exaggerate the pain building in his head. This is a dream... it's not real.
But when he pulls his hands away from his face, eyes stare back from his palms. He feels sick and weak from fear—if this was a dream, he hoped it ended soon.
Makoto stumbles around the corner of the hallway he was in and sees a man. When he's addressed, he stares back with a pained expression before quickly glancing at the wall that had been pointed at. Of course he saw them—they were everywhere, overwhelming everything and even seeming to seep into his mind. For him, the eyes were different colors—belonging to people dead and gone and not even available in his memory. His head hurt even worse, and he looks away almost immediately.
"...i-it's nothing." His voice comes out unsteadily—he's almost afraid he'll throw up. "You're not real... they're not real. So it's... nothing."
3.
Makoto's head had been hurting for a while—ever since the eyes had appeared. The pain and disturbing nature of the whole event had driven him to leave his room (after splashing water on his face in his bathroom had done nothing to help). It's just a dream, he tells himself, even though his own thoughts seemed to exaggerate the pain building in his head. This is a dream... it's not real.
But when he pulls his hands away from his face, eyes stare back from his palms. He feels sick and weak from fear—if this was a dream, he hoped it ended soon.
Makoto stumbles around the corner of the hallway he was in and sees a man. When he's addressed, he stares back with a pained expression before quickly glancing at the wall that had been pointed at. Of course he saw them—they were everywhere, overwhelming everything and even seeming to seep into his mind. For him, the eyes were different colors—belonging to people dead and gone and not even available in his memory. His head hurt even worse, and he looks away almost immediately.
"...i-it's nothing." His voice comes out unsteadily—he's almost afraid he'll throw up. "You're not real... they're not real. So it's... nothing."
Because this had to be a dream. It had to be.