Two lenses, reconstituted from a Japanese camera factory now rested in his sockets, flesh glacially knitting around them.
It felt as if an army of ants now marched along his central nervous system. The tingling was unbearable.
Unbearable, yet strangely addictive.
“Can you focus?” said the doctor, Alexei’s vision independently zooming in on her gaunt features. She raised a brow, silently, yet impatiently, reinforcing her question.
He suddenly glimpsed the frames of his retired glasses on the overhanging table by his thigh, and he extended his mouth into a dry smile.
Everything was clear again, rough shapes now defined and brought into astounding, sharp focus. Every wrinkle on the doctor’s blue rubber gloves, every droplet of blood dissipating in the water dish where her tired implements lay.
Alexei welled up. He felt he might have cried, if that were even at all still possible.