Pain? Chapter 1 - Lior's. Eyes
Pain? Chapter 1 - Lior's EyesLior's Eyes is dedicated to every male victim of CSAincluding not limited victims of John David Norman, Francis Shelden and Brother Paul's Mission.We see you! Trigger Warning.
Flash.
White light exploded behind his eyes—no warning, no sound, just a brutal camera-bulb pop that wiped the pines clean away. The attic vanished. For one blinding second there was nothing but searing white.
Then the word slammed into him, huge and red, the letters jagged like broken glass:
SMILE
It wasn’t a thought. It wasn’t even a voice. It was a command burned straight onto the inside of his skull.
Flash.
Another burst. His knees buckled. He caught himself on the windowsill, nails scraping old paint, mercury-silver hair swinging forward to curtain the next flare.
Flash. Flash.
SMILE
Each time the word hit, an old photograph tried to surface—John David’s camera raised, the little red light blinking, the soft click that always came right after the order. “That’s it, little man. Give me those mercury eyes. Smile for the collection.”
He had been nine, maybe ten. The other children lined up against the living-room wall, barefoot on the plastic runner John David rolled out for picture days. Everyone got a turn. Everyone learned the pose: chin up, shoulders back, smile fixed like it had been glued there. The ones who couldn’t smile got taken to the basement for “practice.”
Flash.
SMILE
The attic rushed back. He was on the floor now, palms pressed to his eyelids as if he could push the light out. His breath came in short, panicked pulls that tasted of dust and panic and cedar shavings. The purple flannel clung to his back, damp with sudden sweat.
Not now. Not after all these years.
But the web remembered. The Man wasn’t even home, yet the training held like barbed wire under the skin. Somewhere in the house a floorboard creaked—real or imagined, he couldn’t tell—and the next flash nearly blinded him.
SMILE
He forced his lips upward, a rictus grin that hurt his cheeks. The lights dimmed at once, the way they always had when he obeyed fast enough.
The attic settled back into its familiar dimness. The bulb overhead hummed, steady now, almost gentle.
Tears slid from the corners of his captivating, mercury-pale eyes and traced hot paths down to the corners of that awful grin.
Asha’s words drifted back, softer than the fading flashes.
You carry secrets the way other people carry wallets.
He understood, suddenly, why she had seen pain so clearly.
Because even alone in the dark, even free of the camera and The Man, part of him was still standing against that wall.
Still waiting for the next command.
Still smiling.
He let the grin collapse then, slowly, like a body sliding down a wall. The tears kept coming, silent, tasting of salt and old film developer.
Outside, the pines whispered in the wind, and somewhere inside the web another strand loosened—just enough for him to notice the weight of the one still wrapped tight around his face.
He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the purple flannel and whispered into the quiet, voice raw and cracking for the first time in years:
“I don’t want to smile anymore,” a young boy's voice echoed in his brain.
It was if time stood stiffly still and Lior remembered the exact moment Pain entered.
Just then a white owl feather landed on his shoulder, and he swore he felt the slightest squeeze -reassuring him Selene was near.
Asha had told him once she sees pain. Those exact moments in children's hearts.
Is that what those flashes captured?
His heart?
*I am a disabled writer with chronic illness who used assistive technology to accommodate my needs as I create. #zebralife
White light exploded behind his eyes—no warning, no sound, just a brutal camera-bulb pop that wiped the pines clean away. The attic vanished. For one blinding second there was nothing but searing white.
Then the word slammed into him, huge and red, the letters jagged like broken glass:
SMILE
It wasn’t a thought. It wasn’t even a voice. It was a command burned straight onto the inside of his skull.
Flash.
Another burst. His knees buckled. He caught himself on the windowsill, nails scraping old paint, mercury-silver hair swinging forward to curtain the next flare.
Flash. Flash.
SMILE
Each time the word hit, an old photograph tried to surface—John David’s camera raised, the little red light blinking, the soft click that always came right after the order. “That’s it, little man. Give me those mercury eyes. Smile for the collection.”
He had been nine, maybe ten. The other children lined up against the living-room wall, barefoot on the plastic runner John David rolled out for picture days. Everyone got a turn. Everyone learned the pose: chin up, shoulders back, smile fixed like it had been glued there. The ones who couldn’t smile got taken to the basement for “practice.”
Flash.
SMILE
The attic rushed back. He was on the floor now, palms pressed to his eyelids as if he could push the light out. His breath came in short, panicked pulls that tasted of dust and panic and cedar shavings. The purple flannel clung to his back, damp with sudden sweat.
Not now. Not after all these years.
But the web remembered. The Man wasn’t even home, yet the training held like barbed wire under the skin. Somewhere in the house a floorboard creaked—real or imagined, he couldn’t tell—and the next flash nearly blinded him.
SMILE
He forced his lips upward, a rictus grin that hurt his cheeks. The lights dimmed at once, the way they always had when he obeyed fast enough.
The attic settled back into its familiar dimness. The bulb overhead hummed, steady now, almost gentle.
Tears slid from the corners of his captivating, mercury-pale eyes and traced hot paths down to the corners of that awful grin.
Asha’s words drifted back, softer than the fading flashes.
You carry secrets the way other people carry wallets.
He understood, suddenly, why she had seen pain so clearly.
Because even alone in the dark, even free of the camera and The Man, part of him was still standing against that wall.
Still waiting for the next command.
Still smiling.
He let the grin collapse then, slowly, like a body sliding down a wall. The tears kept coming, silent, tasting of salt and old film developer.
Outside, the pines whispered in the wind, and somewhere inside the web another strand loosened—just enough for him to notice the weight of the one still wrapped tight around his face.
He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the purple flannel and whispered into the quiet, voice raw and cracking for the first time in years:
“I don’t want to smile anymore,” a young boy's voice echoed in his brain.
It was if time stood stiffly still and Lior remembered the exact moment Pain entered.
Just then a white owl feather landed on his shoulder, and he swore he felt the slightest squeeze -reassuring him Selene was near.
Asha had told him once she sees pain. Those exact moments in children's hearts.
Is that what those flashes captured?
His heart?
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