There’s something growing underneath My teeth.

Something rancid squirming underneath there.

I can feel it tickle the roots and it sends a tingle through my jaw and to my forehead. An electric buzz like a metal filer grinds back and forth against my temples. When I open my mouth, I only see eyes, but when I reach in against they shut themselves and turned themselves way. It doesn’t take long, doesn’t take much effort to find the sickness… but then it moves. It’s lost.

I need to shove My hand in deeper, but all of the eyes are screaming now. My fingers have been there too long. Like pure alcohol, My sweat scorches their conjunctiva, leaving festering boils in their wake. There was something growing underneath My teeth and it’s lost somewhere deep inside of My mouth, but I can’t touch anything.

My throat rumbles a near-silent plea, but there are ears living inside of My esophagus. Even with a gentle tremble, they writhe in pain. I can hear their ear drums popping should I speak anything more than a ghost of a whisper. I desire to ask them where My growing, festering, bubbling sickness is, but they cannot hear Me lest they go deaf.

There’s that grew from underneath My teeth. I cannot find it. Nobody can see it. Nobody can hear it. But it’s there.

I can feel it moving towards my heart.

I have an idea. I will find it Myself with My sight. I open my Eyes and look into the Mirror to find the abnormality swimming beneath My collarbone. Yet, as soon as My body notices that I am watching it, even catching it in My peripheral vision, it freeze in terror; unable to decide what it should do or if it do anything at all. Yet, I cannot find this sickness without its cooperation. There’s something growing inside of Me. I cannot find it. Nothing will—

Inside of my throat, I feel a single ear move. A tiny ear amongst infinitesimally small (but larger) ears. I flex My throat in the vague shape of words but do not dare utter a sound. That single ear doesn’t retreat back into the masses, but moves closer to the tired crack of My vocal chords. I allow an utterance of sound and I feel the ear blossom with blood inside of My throat.

Somewhere inside of My mouth, a quiet shudder rolls through the sea of eyes as a single one opens and squirms to the surface. It stays open, even when My fingertips glide over its irises. It waters. It reddens.

But, it does not look away.

I look back into the Mirror to see the eye looking back at me. Blinking every so often, but moving. This is the Tiny Eye that belongs to the Tiny Ear, I come to understand. It is beaten. It is reddened. The ear bruised and bleeding. It suffers where the sickness has taken most root.

I barely move My throat again and tell the nearly crushed Tiny Ear what has happened and asks if It will help. Immediately, the Tiny Eye dives back into My body.

Where I feel the Despair, I speak and the Tiny Eye goes without question. Where I see Myself dying, I speak and the Tiny Eye goes without insult. Where I believe Myself weak, I speak and the Tiny Eye obeys absolutely. It always searches. It always finds.

Alas, the Tiny Eye can only see and Its Ear can only hear. Whenever it finds what I am searching for, it must use Others’ mouths and they are woefully inadequate. Their Eyes never opened. Their Ears never ventured close enough. What the Tiny Eye sees and what the other Tiny Ears hear is too alien for one another.

Too True.

When it speaks with the Others’ mouths, there is only confusion at best…