继续挖坑，继续等BH填
The worst part of it all was that I couldn't even close my eyes. You'd think that in my situation, blindness would've been a blessing. But you'd be wrong.
My eyes were preserved...in a jar. I haven't quite wrapped my head around the reality of this situation, and probably never will. Through some inexplicable manipulation of dark technology, those eyes could still see, transmitting the horrifying product of their sight back to my fractured mind.
The jar was filled with a faintly glowing green liquid. The jar sat on a shelf in a long aisle, amidst an endless array of similar jars, each holding its own pair of disembodied eyes. How long had these mad inhuman scientists been collecting and studying our organs? The sheer size of the warehouse suggested that they had been at it for quite a while.
The warehouse was lit only by the eerie liquid glowing in these jars. The liquid itself was soothing. Floating alone and insane, I retained some degree of control over my eyes. I was able to move them from one side of the jar to the other, where I would watch the pair beside me that always stared back. Freak. Other times, it seemed my vision was not my own. When one of the monsters lumbered down the aisle, my eyes were glued to it in the way that eyes will wander helplessly to a bloody accident on the side of the road.
Dreaming distressed me. I slept with both of my eyes open, unable to shut. Dreams merged with consciousness like a mad hallucination. I dreamt once of my own body, a face marred by eyeless, bloody sockets, coming into the warehouse with arms outstretched, groping and stumbling blindly towards my field of vision, coming to retrieve the jar. It was at once a nightmare for the terminally insane and the happiest dream of my life.
At times the things came and moved the jar, a disorienting motion that caused a disembodied sea-sickness as my eyes and vision lurched and bobbed every which way. The liquid around me frothed and bubbled. There seemed to be no reason for the movement, other than scientific observation. Strapped to my cot, poked and prodded, my vision rolled to chaos.
The cruelest experiment, however, was when they plucked one eye from the jar and separated it from its companion. My vision stretched and blurred as the eyeballs were drawn apart, and eventually it all overlapped, as it would if you were to move the words of a book closer and closer to your face without readjusting your focus. Disorientation, headaches, and nausea rapidly followed, and closing my eyes against the onslaught was impossible.
And so went my time, my days, my horror. The experiments continued, one atop another, each more disturbing than the last.
And then one day I heard her voice...
