Chapter 5 - THE INVISIBLE LENS
The boy didn't walk back to the wheelchair.
He stood entirely still in the middle of the aisle.
The pink and blue neon light from the window washed over the left side of his face.
He slowly raised his head.
He looked directly forward, past the rows of red booths, past the glass door.
He stared directly into the lens.
The invisible eye hovering in the air.
He knew it was there.
It was the eye that demanded the ten thousand ghosts.
Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over his lower lids.
The salt stung the dirt on his cheeks.
He opened his mouth, drawing in a ragged breath of the grease-filled air.
His lower lip trembled violently.
He could hear the quiet weeping of his grandmother behind him.
He could hear the man chewing his cherry pie.
He could hear the hum of the cash register.
All of it faded into a dull, distant roar.
There was only him and the glass eye.
He had to trade his tears for the invisible currency.
He had to perform the ritual.
He clenched his fists at his sides, his dirty nails biting into his palms.
He leaned slightly forward, offering his pain to the void.
The warm indoor lighting cast deep shadows under his cheekbones, making him look frail and hollow.
He took another breath.
May you like
He prepared to speak the magic words that the new world required.
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