The yellow eye, burning down my soul like an errant spark devouring a wilderness. I try to escape beneath the steel sky at work, but it’s unseen gaze is worse than it’s direct baleful glare. Like razors it flays my skin. Tearing asunder my flesh with the might of Grendel when exposed. Crushed under the suffocating weight of it when covered, like a modern Atlas.
Under this terrible burden I have been tasked a mighty deed. I will overcome. I will get ingredients for nachos on the way home. This I swear.
Peter's stuff.