He doesn't think he noticed them at first. They were perfectly innocent after all. He may have registered one, casually, in passing, but after all, they weren't particularly striking, unless you were looking for them, so none stands out in his memory as the first. He simply remembers there suddenly being MORE. A few would seem like a passing decorating fad, but when they were everywhere, clustered amongst the tacky lawn flamingos, and sitting menacingly in windows, he knew that this was truly something serious.
Normally, it would be foolish to think that something so apparently innocent to have some greater plan, some greater goal, some ominous purpose, but there was something so sinister
As he grew more and more agitated by their omnipresence he began searching for their purpose. What could they signify? Why were they here? What did it mean? It was a senseless quest. Slowly he withdrew further and further, attempting to discover it. It began to distract him from his meals and keep him from sleep. Yet all the whiles he seemed unawares of his own situation as their presence pressed in on him.
He began to go walking just to see if they had encroached further. Once, when he found one thrown carelessly upon his lawn he shrieked and returned to the confines of his house, not to leave it again until it had been accidentally removed by a neighbor.
Now, when he left to survey the streets he saw them peering out of every window, he could feel them pressing in on him from all sides. A panic seemed to burn through him.
about them. He felt that it laid chiefly in their conspicuous lack of pigment. Even albinos had pigment, their eyes being red, or pale blue, but here the eyes were white. It was unnatural. And then they were everywhere. There was not a place he could lay his eyes that they were not. His throat constricted. Perhaps this was the end, for that must be what they were, harebringers of the end. And they were here. And there. And there. And everywhere. He knew there was nothing he could do. He looked around at them staring at him from windows and lawns and porches and chairs and doorways. He slowly made to back away, and tripped over one. He overbalanced and then he felt a sickening crack as he met the pavement. Yet there one was, staring at him and it was white, and then it was dark.
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©TRG. Please don't steal. Criticism is greatly appreciated.