Fiona can still feel something in her eye, taunting her at the edge
of her vision. She blinks again, somehow unsurprised when the giant
eyelid before flashes closed for a moment, but the irritant is still
there. That blink is followed by several more, each of which is
mirrored in front of her. She's about to rub her face with her right
hand when she suddenly stops herself, left hand grabbing right.
“Let's not be foolish,” she whispers to herself between clenched
teeth, “I could easily make this ridiculous situation much worse.”
The more time passes, the more aware she is of the speck in her eye,
her blinking becoming almost uncontrollable, the eyelid before her
flashing back and forth, a giant guillotine with lashes.
“If I am the speck in my own eye,” she starts to reason, “Then
the eye before me is me.” She pauses, almost
confused by her own train of thought. “I sound like one of those
bloody self-help zen manuals,” she says, “When all I really need
is to get inside myself.”
