Eyes

When everyone was staring at him, I looked at the viewers' pitiful eyes. I wanted to read what went through their minds, when my dad looked so innocent, so child-like.
I saw how serious, how dramatic the situation was only through their eyes.
It was the others' eyes that told me everything.
It was their mimics, every single facial muscle that trembled hesitantly.
The eyes of my father were rather hopeful, still rejecting his own end, afraid of death.