The Watcher by the Thought

My eyes were taken from me and carried across the universe. Away they sped, faster than light. They were wired into a thing that watched and took note of events from all over the cosmos. The place this thing resided in was on the far side of space, untold galaxies away. When it looked at Earth, it saw it as it had been at its birth, a molten ball with no continents, seas or life.

This place was near the region all thoughts traverse as they move around the universe, from their origin into the minds of living things. I saw my own thoughts, visible as lights and images, pass by, as my body back on Earth dreamed. All I amounted to here was a couple of little white eyeballs, yet I was still aware and cognizant, thanks to the proximity of those racing thoughts.

The thing that watched had eyes from a million other creatures, so it could see in all directions and all wavelengths. Strange organs of liquid and ice, flesh and metal, had been purloined from all manner of beings from across the awesome breadth of space. Some of the minds accompanying those organs hardly registered on my consciousness; others were glimmers of warmth but barely sentient; still others were like blazing constellations of stars, vast and complex and burning too brightly to turn my full attention on. And the watcher held them all, bending their senses to its purpose.

The watcher could see things my eyes could not, like gravity, emotion and things I had no inkling of. It surveyed reality, deeply and broadly. I got the impression it was looking for something in particular. In fact, it became obvious to me it yearned for something. Its longing was subtle and faint, but if I let myself drift, I could start to sense the thing's mood.

My perceptions softened, and its yearning became more of an aching loss. The thing was missing some other. A companion which had left a long time ago and never returned. That was why it had stolen my eyes, and the eyes of those others – to hunt for its lost friend.

The more time I spent with the watcher, the less apt did that word – friend – seem. It had been more like a lover, some inhuman but still tender lover that had gone away.

And then, after an unknown time, the stream of racing thoughts grew brighter, and I saw the lights of my ideas and feelings pulse. The torrent began to exert a pull on me, and before I knew it, I had made a titanic lurch across the universe, and my eyes were back in my own head.

Mere minutes had passed. I was in my bed. I knew in my bones it hadn't been a dream, for whenever I looked up at the stars from that day on, I felt the pining of the watcher, and its restless search for its departed love.