The days and nights were marked by the meals served to me. Breakfast would be eggs that smelled of rot and mold. Lunch would be the catch of the day, typically some strange type of blue or green fish, sometimes with a slimy bone still in the meat. And dinner become the worst meal of all. It was a slab of putrid mystery meat, always raw and putrid, almost unholy. However, the doctors would always come into my room to make sure I had wolfed down the meal. There was a sinister undertone in this supposedly welcoming village. That same revolting orchestra of moaning, crunching, and slurping was still playing, usually at night, when they thought I was asleep. I always had the paranoia that these men were waiting, watching, from the shadows. Perhaps it was the effect of these sleepless nights and numbed reactions, but I knew that these were not good people.

One night, as the moon was simply a sliver of white light, those same wailing sounds were like the howling of wolves in the forest. The only lighting in this room was a candle relit daily, and every shadow seemed to taunt me every time I tried to escape, for the door was locked daily. Somedays, I would pace the room, looking up and down from a dropped key or a hairpin to free myself, but alas, I found nothing on the dusty floors of this cell of a cottage. I spent days devising an escape plan, a plan that could shatter at one thing gone wrong. So, on the day of action, I was incredibly tense, going over the departure in my mind as if it were a manual. The ticking on the clock became my alarm. The seventh ringing on the clock would signal seven o'clock in the morning, when the doctors would deliver my food. Then, I would knock over the candle, lighting a flame on the carpet. Dr. Redford would reach down to put it out, and then I would take the keys from his pocket. Afterwards, I would lock the door behind Redfird, trapping him inside with the growing flame.

The little wooden bird popped out of the cuckoo clock, and the golden arrow pointed at the number 7. Doctor Redford unlocked the door, with a platter of those foul smelling eggs. "Here's your breakfast!" he said, with a clearly fake grin on his face. I smiled , reaching out for my food, when I knocked over the candle. It burnt where my arm nudged the blazing wet wax, but I took a deep breath as the flames started to cover the red carpet. Dr. Redford's eyes opened wide, as got to his knees, patting the fire out with his hands. Quickly, I swiped the keys and hopped out of the bed. Smoke started to rise, as Redford growled in anger. "You idiot! Give me the damn keys!" he yelled, chasing me towards the door. I got out of the room and into a short hallway, lined with three doors and a door that led out into the village.

Full of anger and rage, Redford tried to push the door open frantically. His arm got through the crack in the door, clawing at my face. But soon, his hand snapped back into the bedroom, as the man's screams filled the air. I panicked at the sound, looking around for any witnesses. I sighed when I found none, running out of this hellish cottage and into the gloomy green village of Harkenton, Maine, the scent of rotten fish pungent and the streets eerily empty. Suddenly, I heard the noises of an upcoming car. They would see me! They would capture me again! I couldn't have that. I jumped into the nearest house, only to immediately regret what I saw.

There was a group of people, dressed in their usual attire, but splashed with blood. They all turned to look at me, and I looked at them. They were having a breakfast party together. However, I was amazed to see not those awful eggs, but something much worse. On the table was this corpse, recently killed. It's stomach had been torn open, and the people's plates were covered in the gruesome guts and gore. Blood was spilt everywhere, on the table, the floor, and the guests. But maybe the worst part of it all was that the corpse wasn't really a corpse yet. It was still alive, suffering through every moment. His legs were still slightly twitching and his mouth was crying out in pain. I know what he was saying, and I will remember for the rest of my days. That poor young man was crying out "Help yourself," instead of "Save me." But I couldn't do either.

They jumped up, and one, probably the leader, shouted, "Seize him!" They all got up, crimson blood splatter dripping down their suits and faces. I couldn't hold tjen back, they were simply too strong. Some claws at my face, leaving horrible gashes, and the others started to strangle me or hold me by the arms. And that's when I blacked out again. This time, I knew I wasn't asleep. I was trapped in unconsciousness. I could only only what horrible actions they were doing. So, I cried out, my voice not coming through my mouth. I sobbed and shrieked as much as I could. My lungs weren't in full function, so I kept on yelling and hollering. It seemed like hundreds of thousands of years. I felt like my entire existence was only to serve the purpose of being the universe's prisoner. I can't tell you how long it was. I just stayed there, huddled up and scared, wanting to die, to end it all. But my suffering was not over yet.

In actuality, it only took two hours, but every second seemed like a century to me. By the time I woke once more, I was crying out in delirious pain. I was trapped in a chair that was facing the sky. Near my eye was a humungous telescope, a sort of device only found in headquarter for grand astronomical laboratories. I refused to look into, frightened of what these people would force me to do. They were all standing in a circle around me and the telescope. The leader, a woman with the whitest hair you can imagine spoke, her voice raspy and dry. "We are the Unworthies. You are the Chosen. This is a great honor to be the Chosen. You are lucky," she hissed. They were all dressed in white robes, with unnerving smiles on their twisted faces.

By this point. I didn't question anything. I now know what it is like to be scared so much you cannot do anything at all. It's a terrible feeling not only in your body, but in your mind. They started to ramble on in foreign dialects, their voices becoming louder and louder, as if they were summoning some ancient evil. Then, they morphed. They morphed into something fouler than they were. Their legs combined and turned into one thin, scaly limb. Out of their backs grew these terrible wings, and their hands transformed into razor sharp claws. I then figured out that these people were not people at all. They were those ugly winged serpent people from Harlan's drawing. Their words were more shrieks than understandable dialogue. "We are unworthy. We are unworthy. We are unworthy," they chanted, berating themselves over and over. "We," the leader of these demons cried, "are the Servants of the Cosmic Eyes. We do their bidding, for we must be cleansed of our wrongs. You will be the sacrifice to the Cosmic Eyes. They have picked YOU out of all the insignificant insects you call humans. You are special. You are special. You are special."

And somehow, I felt accepted by these people. Yes, I was confused by everything here. I didn't know how I was chosen or who these Cosmic Eyes were. But I took a deep breath and looked into the telescope. And what I saw was beautiful.