The Blue Eye

by India Pera, age 11
The Blue Eye India is a sixth grade girl with a passion for coding, dancing, reading, songwriting, worldbuilding, and playing strategy games. Her favorite games are D&D and Magic The Gathering. She also likes writing.

“As I force my legs to pump up, down, up, down propelling my body like pistons across the torrid street, I think, Why do we live, why are we unhappy when we have everything we desire? But we don’t.”

I contemplate as I walk down the hard metal street. The cold, grey sky senses my disdain and reflects it upon the city like a great mirror. As I force my legs to pump up, down, up, down propelling my body like pistons across the torrid street, I think, Why do we live, why are we unhappy when we have everything we desire? But we don’t. I realize that there are many obstacles in the way to true clarity.

A strange urge has come over me as I start digging with the same passion I possess when I am preaching the ways of glob and holy might. Over and over, my hands claw the ground. One, two, one, two—the rhythm of my heart beating in sync with my hands as I work through the darkened hours, neither sleep nor refreshment is wanted or needed.

The light has started to slowly spread as I hit metal. An echoing sound issues from it, lighting every inch of my tangled mind. I pull out a frosted glass orb filled with a see-through liquid suspending a small blue pebble-sized stone. There is a large, wicked looking metal spike on the end that makes me shudder to think of its intention.

I am at home with the eye. I have put it in a glass of water; it has been bobbing up and down like the lungs of some great lumbering beast. The eye has turned to me and is looking at me. No, it can’t. It is a mere eye and nothing more. It SEEMS like it is looking me up and down like a lion looking at a helpless deer. Please no! I think as my hands reach down and grasp the slimy eye from the cup, not even bothering to dry it. Please, please, no! I think once more. Spare me from this pain! I am begging you! I jam the glass eye into my dark socket where my real one was. A wave of pain rushes over me as inhumane screams and shouts fill my head. Then, the shouts fade as I clamber into my bed.

I vaguely know what happened next, but I remember myself digging in an abandoned landfill. Whatever happened, there is an ornate steel eye on my counter with a steel spike identical to the one I have.

I have just finished preaching when my associate and love of my life stops me in the doorway. “Owen! Wait!” calls Jane, rushing toward the door. “I wanted to invite you over to my house for coffee.”

“Sure!” I reply. “That would be lovely.” This is the first time Jane has ever invited me over to her house.

The next day, I walk over to Jane’s house. Inside, Jane offers me a steaming cup of coffee, and then we launch into a discussion of politics, our job, and the stock market. Suddenly, Jane asks, “What is with your eye? It seems unusual.”

“Oh this? I just need this for medical purposes.”

“Really?” exclaims Jane. “It doesn’t look like you need it.”

No, don’t. I think as my hand reaches into my pocket and grasps the metal eye. Not her! I move forward so quickly that you would think it wasn’t me, and you would probably be right. In seconds, I take the metal eye and jam it into her socket.

She lets out a shriek of pain and screams at the top of her lungs. “What did I ever do to you Owen! I was probably the only person that ever loved you!” She gives an alien like gargle and for a moment stands tall, like a great monument, as her one eye fixes itself on me, filled with sadness and compassion. 

For a moment I gain control, and I realize what I have done. Then, she crashes to the ground. Her brown eye starts to blink as she seems to pick herself up. I feel strangely warm inside and think, Now I will have her, and she will love me forever. 

She looks at me, waiting for me to speak, to give her instructions. She senses what I’m thinking and hugs me, saying in a voice filled with artificial love, “You are the most talented, smartest, and kindest person I know. I love you with all my heart.” Tears of pure joy glisten down my cheeks as I hear her loving words.

I have worked up a schedule to keep our marriage hidden. In the morning, Jane says, “Bye honey” and goes to work. After she gets home, she says, “I’m home!” and makes dinner. After dinner, we do the dishes and get into bed. At that time, Jane says, “Good night sweetie pie.” We have already prepared the body, which we dug up from a grave, along with a story of me dying in a car crash. In addition, there is a will, stating that the money should be given to the local church and my belongings and property to my good, good friend Jane White.

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