It was dark. In fact so dark it took what seemed like ages to adjust to the blackness. That blackness started to seep into Hank’s thoughts. “I may never see the light again. I may never see a sun rise or rain or anything up there ever again.” This was to himself, but he did say it out loud. He could hear other children talking as well. To themselves.
Slowly the darkness started to become less dark, and they could see the ground—dirt—under their feet, and they could run their bare hands across the curved walls under ground, cold and wet and solid like rock. And as Hank started to enter into his own dream world as he walked something happened. A voice called out.
“Can you see it? I repeat, can any of you see it? Anyone? See it?” Silence. No answers. Then suddenly Hank looked up and saw a glow of gold. A series of golden eyeballs. He looked back from where he came and saw them lit up as far as he could see. Golden eyeballs.
“Yes,” he said. “I see it. All of them. Hundreds of them. I see them.” All the children began muttering, the voices gathering together louder and louder until a loud siren sound pierced their ears and brought them back to quiet.
“What do you see?” the voice yelled out. “Eyes. I see eyes. Golden eyes. They look like real eyes. But they are gold. Who has golden eyes?”
“They do,” came the loud voice. They do. And soon you will too. Golden eyes for the chosen few. Or in this case, the chosen one. Everyone, move aside and let this chosen one through.”
The children clung to the cold wet walls and Hank sheepishly moved to the front.
A sliding door appeared to the left, and a hand came out of the other room waving Hank into another space.
He moved the paper in his mouth father back near his throat and walked into another place, another time, the chosen one. Now he had to figure out what he has been chosen for. And even more curiously, how would he have golden eyes.