Red Light at the End of the Tunnel
The glowing red, mechanical eye is fixed on me. It never looks away. It never blinks.
I crawl down the metal tunnel, its circular walls decorated by an intricate series of pipes and wires. I’ve been crawling down it for days, weeks, months, years. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything other than the eye. That red, illuminating, sinister glow has held my attention for so long that I don’t know if I’ll be able to look away.
At least I’ve kept focused. At what cost, though? I don’t even remember my motivation for going after the eye in the first place. I don’t know at what moment I decided to charge in its direction, or what I ever did before I recognized its existence. Once I saw it, it was the only thing that mattered.
The eye laughs at me. It’s a cruel, mechanical, inhuman laugh born out of a child’s worst nightmares. It’s mocking me as much as it’s pulling me toward it. I want to touch it as much as I want to run away from it.
I continue crawling down the cold metal tunnel. I think I’m getting closer. I’ve always thought that, though. It’s all so relative. The closer I get to my conquest, the farther I am from humanity.
What is my name? What do I look like? Who are my parents? Where do I come from? What does any of it matter, anymore? All that matters anymore is the eye and my push to reach it. Someday, I will reach my goal. Someday, it will be my eye staring out, watching the others.
The eye bathes me in its scarlet glow.
