She smiled into the phone, turning slightly to her left so her fringe fell over her eyes. She didn't want me to see through the glass, past the plastic phone to her lilac eyes. Her beautiful unusual eyes.
It didn't stop me from watching the tear cast its snail trail down her cheek, leaving behind its sadness.
'Do it Laura,'
'You know that is not my name.' She quavered, running her fingers under her eyes to wipe away the salty residue. I found myself leaning closer, wanting, needing to wipe the tears away myself, to have the clear liquid gold settling on my skin. A seer's tears held power, held emotion so powerful it drove out your own emotion, only that to come and that which has been. Better then any acid trip.
'Why did you come?' I growled.
'To deliver a message,' she said, turning back. Wearily I allowed her eyes to lock to mine, to transfer a message from the past. Slowly her sadness dried up to be replaced by anger. Her eyes burrowed deep into my mind, lilac light piercing my insides with white hot flames. I cried out in pain as faces began to colour in my vision. A sketch at first, then solid lines, then reds and blacks and blinding whites. The whites of eyes.
So many blank faces. Where were the black pupils? The expressions? Where were the feelings behind the eyes of the children?
A child came forward, any hair shorn off long ago, revealing the burns down her neck where her hair had once touched. Burning buildings filled in the back spaces of the image as the people stilled, fading to become a photograph.
And yet the salvaged child spoke. Her voice was not that of a child. But a voice of thousands, thousands of those harmed through one action. My action.
'I hate you.'
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