seapage.

Have you ever sat in a room with your back turned to a sliding glass door with the curtain open at night?  I do every time I sit down to the computer to write, or masturbate.  The worst part about it is the reflection of the door to the dark outer realm is noticeable when you adjust your eyes to look through the computer screen.  It freaks the shit out of me because I then stare into it and think of all the horrible things that will suddenly pop in the reflection.  I'm doing it right now, actually.  Best part about it is I'm listening to the Lion King's To Die For track and it just got to the part where Simba is walking up to his father's dead corpse.  Now I have images of rotting fetus' etched in my mind.  The reflection in the screen of the reflection of the door looks hazy, almost indiststinguishable as a man's form and it sorta sways slowly right to left, or I guess that would be left to right.  The sway stops a bit when the tear ducts in my eyes go dry and I need to blink to moisten them.  It appears to come closer as I open them again and readjust my sight.  With every breath I take the movement of the form seems to quiver; pulse rapidly at the neck and head until I exhale.  Then it cocks violently to the right; arm dangles, it seems to stare into the back of my skull like it knows something I don't.  The wind blows and it's stagnant arm taps the glass.  With a slow, precise movement it raises it's head back to the upright position while keeping it's vision deadlocked on my back and focuses for a second.  The static surrounding it snaps away like piano wire under strain.  Piece by piece the image is revealed until all I can see are piercing gold eyes.  They are changing a bit...it almost looks like they're bleeding.  The gold is washing out and becoming this deep red that creeps down the front and sides of the face.  The brow bone cracks in and down as blood fills all the gaps in the face.  The slowly flooding eyes turn to tight slights of red and lower at the inner corners.  A waterfall of blood starts to spew out and onto the glass.  A massive globe of swirling black and red is rising behind it now.  The image is completely blurred minus the top of the quivering skull and the growing orb that is starting to surround it.  There is no sound as the blood rapes the glass and shoots shells on the concrete patio.  With a quick jerk of the left hand the figure smacks the glass, the orb implodes like a breath held for days.  It ignites the ground.  The cold, dry hand flexes and tears the blood away from it's line of sight.  My chair starts to turn under it's own force.  I grip the seat, knuckles white.  The wooden legs catch the seams in the hardwood flooring and scrap a sound that could kill a child.  There is a suction restraining my movement and my back is suddenly stiffened against the chair's back.  I cannot blink.  The chair turns 180 degrees with a crunching pull and am forced to stare directly into it's right eye.  In an instant the blood separates from the creature and falls to the ground like a wave off the rocks.  The grey matter falls static again and the haze lifts back to reality.  

I think I shall close the curtain.