The Room was Full of Eyes

The room was full of staring eyes, flickering screens spread through the world, and here one could see all one wished, every detail of life surveyed.

The Hero: But all you can do is watch. You sit behind the million monitors, ever-watchful, a spider in the dark. I know your silence. The hunter waits. I will stop you.

He bravely shouts his lines, a madman on the street corner. The eyes see so far, so much, and he’s but a blip, a moment amid a million moments all happening at once, all passing through time instantly, replaced immediately by the present. The present, suffocating: Countless wars and deaths, and mothers baking bread, and children skinning knees. It’s all too much, this world.

The Spider: What tingles on my web tonight? On what may I be fed?

In that room you sit, the uncounted eyes staring out into the world, your web. Every movement, every life, is known by you, and hated.

. . . and in that room the staring eyes still stare at you.

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