Wood Reede Kaleidoscope Eyes Her eyes were windowpanes, distorting images and changing reflections like the mirror in a fun house. They opened and closed, changed color and shape, a relentless kaleidoscope, mesmerizing and hypnotic and strange. “Why are you here?” she asked, her eyes radiating, spinning, humming. He really couldn’t say. One minute he was living his comfortable life, the next he was standing before her, transfixed. He had no explanation, no reasoning, nothing made sense. He only knew that this was where he needed to be. She stared into him, through him. Her eyes opening and closing, spinning and pulsing—vast pinwheels of ever-changing color, they saw everything, felt everything—saw him as he was, for who he was, for who he could be. “You have to trust me,” she said, her eyes shimmering, shining, soothing. “If you fall, I will be there—if you let me.” He stared back, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to think. Her crazy kaleidoscope eyes held him, comforted him, pulled him in. He was reminded of a line in a song—the girl with kaleidoscope eyes—it was about tripping on LSD. All at once, he was flying, weightless. He was exhilarated and terrified and strangely calm. None of it made sense—he didn’t care. He never wanted to leave, never wanted to be far from this feeling, far from her. “Why are you here?” she asked again, her eyes blue, then green, then turquoise, expanding and contracting and changing—always changing. He still could not answer, which was unusual. He had always lived his life with certainty, clarity, a directness, always a plan. He never took chances, never gambled, but now, as he stood before her, he was dizzy with uncertainty and, at the same time, dizzy with relief. He realized he wanted to live in those eyes forever, never leave. He focused on a tiny, dried leaf on the ground between them. I am like that leaf, he thought to himself, I am dried up, dead, unable to act. I can be crushed so easily. He looked back at her and began to break apart bit by bit. When he was weightless, no longer earthbound, unable to control this roller-coaster ride, she pulled him back in. When she did, his eyes began to change—the pupils dilated and constricted, first blue, then purple, then green—endless prisms of light and color radiating outward. He was elated but also afraid. “You must trust me,” she said, her eyes opening and closing, spinning and changing. “If you fall, I will be there—if you let me.” “I can’t fall,” he said, panic creeping into his voice. “I never want to fall.” “You must let yourself fall a little before you can really fly,” she said.
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