Check out the update to The Eyes of God.

I plunged my blade into this appalling monster, squirting its juices in a geyser, and then it started screaming. With its salty flesh deflating, I began prying it out of my hand, digging the knife deeper and deeper, expelling it from my body. A sickening suction sounds as the whimpering creature slowly rose, and then plopping from my hand rolled among the decaying leaves of the forest floor.

The eye was silent now, silent the moment it left me, but its kindred voices—like screaming children—soon took up the call. My boils, all my boils itched. Scratching them, I felt my whole flesh caked in thick layers of their slime. That’s when I heard another plopping, and saw a smaller eye joining the first, rolling down into the crater left by the fallen tree.

Looking down at my arms I saw all the boils opened: scores of eyes, tiny, little eyes, all trained—filled with fear and hate—upon their host. Plopping, they all jumped from me, leaping like popping corn in a fryer, slowly, one by one at first, and then en masse. Their exodus filled the pit, the eyes like a river surly to the sea.

The screaming ceases as the last two join their fellows. Exhausted, the final thing I remember is that bunch of eyes all glaring accusingly at me, and then it all fades to black.