At
first, he thought the flashes were stars
or
headlights reflecting from his glasses.
Then he
realized they only occurred
when
he turned his head a certain way.
At the
eye clinic, they kept reassuring him
that
chances were there was nothing
wrong,
in soothing murmurs that were
more
frightening than any warning.
The
flashes got brighter. Got worse.
Now they
were circles of neon fire
he
saw even with his eyes squeezed shut.
He was
afraid; he needed his vision
for
everything. Gradually the glowing rings
became
more distinct, continuous, as if
they
were portals, round hatches opening
into
a world lit by a fierce sun.
He would
lie awake at night and move
his
head just a little to make it happen,
trying
to peer around the edges. His work
began
to suffer from his lack of sleep.
He told
his doctor things were improving.
He’d
begun to see glimpses of a landscape,
impossibly red-violet cliffs. The door
was
about to open fully; he was sure of it.
The
flashes, almost like detonations now,
circled
the perimeter of the opening.
He
squinted and blinked as long, dark
tendrils
entered his field of perception.
He’d
been asked about floaters—maybe this
was
one of those. Then he realized that
it
was coming toward him through the void.
Inside
his eye, something began to squirm.
