Check out the update to The Eyes of God:
Where the eyes should have been a hollow emptiness resided, a black depth the soft light of the fire failed to sound. His face had not been turned on me, but looked out—how could a man look without eyes?—toward the man with the net. This had meant that he somewhat faced the fire. Now, he turned that credulous sneer towards me, and his countenance was encased in darkness. All details of him were lost to my sight but a faint outline against the dancing flame. By this silhouette I saw him lift his cowl, and while I knelt in the muddy bank under his shadow, he softly encroached upon shoreline. The squish of his boots in the mud drew closer in their even, unhurried gait. Half in the water and half on land, I stayed in my humbled position, gazing up at the approaching stranger. Stopping an arm’s reach away, he stood before me, his whole humanity cloaked, in a column of shadow.
“Are your eyes okay?” he asked.
In truth, my eyes stung with fiery pain, the cool water being only a momentary relief. “I think so. I’ve washed them now.”
“Where are you from?” he continued to question.
“The river, sir. The riverbed has dried, and I came to seek water.”
The other two were slowly coming forward, cautiously, like stalking cats. Flanking the man with the club, they surrounded me. With dread, I saw evidence of what I feared. These other men, shadows against the light, reached out their arms blindly, at first feeling the empty air above me. Level by level, their hands came down, eventually touching my crouching back. They felt along my shoulders and found my arms. Taking me by the elbows, they lifted me from the mud onto my feet. What? Were these men all blind? As the water fell from me in a short splash and drawn out trickle, the shadow in front of me turned, and the two beside me pulled. We began to move.
Taking up the net of eyes, the clubman hoisted the body of that still squirming pile upon his shoulders. I watched as he brought these to the campfire. Between the mesh I could see them glistening in the excited flames, see them seeing, gazing out in meaningless sight. What is a body that is only an eye? And taking up a pitcher, the clubman poured sand upon the flames. I was again in the blind, sightless ever-dark of the dead forest.