He Who Has Eyes To See Let Him See Novels & Stories

Downstairs, 10,000 white roses formed a bed of flowers with 100 white candles scattered among them, surrounding a crystal box at the very center. Inside the box were my eyeballs. Next to the bed of flowers stood a choir as well as a priest, whom Samuel had specifically invited. He mentioned that Daeleen was the gentlest soul alive and that she would surely become an angel after death. Only a priest's prayers could ensure that Daeleen received my eyes.

"Cali Olwen, sir." He kept looking at me and I thought for a second that he wasn't blinking. But I didn't want him to because the more I looked at his eyes, the more drawn to him I felt. "Cali." He pronounced my name and suddenly I only wanted to hear it from him. "You don't have to call me sir, you and I know each other even if your mind is denying it. I couldn't get your eyes out of my mind. I haven't slept because of you, everytime I closed my eyes I saw you." "Me too." I said before I could stop myself.

What disaster when all I did was just innocently look into his eyes? “Why?” I asked, pain twirling from the wrist he held onto my wounded shoulder. Just should it be mandatory that I see something inside his eyes?! “You're wolfless after all” the grumpy warrior said, his nose scrunching at the presence before him. “That makes you just like her. Then you definitely would see something just like she does” Who? Just what exactly am I supposed to see?!!! I wanted to scream out of frustration, but unfortunately or thankfully, it was– the intimidating voice of the one-eyed General sank the word down my throat with a familiar name that kept me at the edge.

What must I say to make you understand? I weep, but you laugh and caress my cold hand My eyes can't behold what your blithe spirit sees Yet you open them still, O restless young breeze He raised his eyes, fastening them on me. His gaze was different. Desire burned in his eyes. I don't know why, but I felt he wanted to look at me, as though he needed to see my eyes. The intensity of his gaze was so unexpected, I was frightened; yet hardly had I seen fire in his eyes when it vanished. His regard was once again peaceful and soothing, and he lowered his eyes to the keys as he sang the last stanza,

"Trust me. Just open your eyes. Look at me." I tried, I really did. I fought through the pain and the fog in my mind and the scales over my eyes. I pushed hard past the darkness until I could finally, mercifully, see him. He was there, a solid, unwavering presence in the sea of subdued panic and fear. There were tears in his eyes too.

The strange man says it like I’m supposed to understand what he means but I don’t. The man looks in the distance and says, “I feel for this pack, they are blind to the danger beside them.” His eyes fall back to me. “Just as you are blind to the saviour next to you.” I frown at him but he’s looking at something behind me. When I turn, there’s nothing and no one there. “What do you see?” I ask. “The most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen in our world.”

“Yes.” “Yes?” She raised her eyebrows. “Yes!” Oreoluwa repeated. “What’s with the eyes? You know I don’t understand your sign languages. So speak?” “You won’t tell me more. Like how he qualified?” “The principal will announce it in the assembly. If you are so eager, why not ask your friend?” He pointed behind Bukky. Bukky looked back and saw no one. “Who was that?” “Ayo” – he walked past Bukky, up the stairs – “she has been there since we began this conversation.”

"I stepped back, lass. I gave you what no other man would have given you. I allowed you the time to choose me of your own will. But it seems your will is wildly foolish and needs persuading. Choose me, you will. And when you do, there will be no other man's name on your lips, no other man's shaft between your thighs, no other man's face in your mind's eye." "But-" She wanted to know why her time had so sud-denly run out. What had made him snap? "No buts. No more words, lass, unless you would have me bind your mouth as well. From this time forward you see without the benefit of those beautiful, lying eyes. Perhaps I'm not a complete fool. Perhaps you might see true with your inner vision. The

I saw him again on a Tuesday. Not at a supernatural event. Not at one of Kenny's carefully orchestrated visibility performances. Just on a Tuesday afternoon in the West Village, three blocks from my apartment, standing outside a coffee shop with a cup in his hand, looking at nothing in particular. I almost walked past him. Almost. He looked up at exactly the wrong moment, and our eyes met, and I felt it again. That particular quality of being seen that had nothing to do with performance or visibility or the attention system that ran the city underneath its surface. Just a man looking at a woman and actually seeing her.