Someone must have swapped them while they were exchanging glances, he thought. He was looking through foreign eyes. Just this morning everything looked normal and now, now it was just odd. He couldn’t pin it down, but the view from the window seemed skewered, somehow. Colours and shades were strange, some more vibrant, others positively dull. Trees looked bigger which was just bizarre and kept drawing his gaze. People were terrifying. There were lines on their faces, full of stories he did not want in his head. Their jaws clenched and he was too aware of their anger. He looked at their hands, and every one had an ability to hurt. He didn’t look at himself. He bolted.
He ran not looking up. With the eyes that were not his, he feared even the pavement. Too hard and so rough and Dangerous and he wanted his world back. To look without fear and not know where to look to find it. He wanted his bliss.
He will go back to where he first noticed the change. He will look for someone with eyes not their own. For the relief on their face and the surprised bliss of the borrowed ignorance. And he will take it back.