It’s in the Eyes
By Nomar Knight
There’s something mystical about a person’s eyes. I draw inspiration from the eyes for while the rest of the body is doing its best to conceal secrets, the eyes open a door into a person’s most private thoughts, and you just have to be relentless and fearless enough to enter.
Here’s an excerpt from my short story titled, Eyes of the Dead.
My first encounter with death stole my innocence at the ripe age of seven. It came like a disturbing night creature whose purpose to astound and mortify entrapped innocence, while sucking its victims inside a dark abyss from which escape eluded the unforgiving heart.
As I leaned against the second floor window and watched a heated argument unfold between two patrons in front of the neighborhood pub, nothing could have prepared me for the event to come. At first, dark, disturbing words spewed from the taller gentleman. His frustration spread across his face. A street lamp's iridescent glow illuminated his gaunt cheekbones, as his fiery eyes threatened the stout, much smaller man.
With one swift motion, the little gentleman produced what I now know to be a snub-nosed, .38 caliber, nickel-plated Colt, not unlike the toy my parents had bought me. While thoughts of a comic drama unraveled before my virgin eyes, a sharp blast, followed by a puff of blue smoke, surrounded the duo. The tall man recoiled, held his chest, pleading with his eyes. Once again, the disturbing popping echoed throughout the street, followed by the ominous cloud. Burnt metal permeated the night air.
"That'll teach you to steal from me, you prick!"
I ducked behind the curtains while the gunman searched his surroundings. Somehow, I sensed his menacing stare penetrate through the wooden frame like daggers launched with expert precision.
Curiosity drove me to rise while the frantic little man scurried away, leaving his nemesis on the pavement.
At first, I puzzled over the injured man's safety, but when he moved his hand towards the heavens, a heavy sigh of relief escaped me. Maybe the little man used a toy gun after all. Any delusions I had began to evaporate when my focus shifted from his bony fingers to his wide, frightened eyes. They pleaded with me as if I, a young lad, could swoop down and take away his pain. Although time whispered of its eminent departure, it froze when our eyes locked. Then, like a wild fire's rapid consumption of its natural forested habitat, a pool of blood surrounded the man as if attempting to disinfect him of his sins.
Shivers traveled up and down my spine as images of evil flashed before me. The pale man’s habit of thievery began at boyhood. With every terrible deed I witnessed, an electrical sensation rocked deep inside my chest transferring energy all over my body. The euphoric vibes dissipated when his eyes took on a glassy glow. I sensed that the gentleman, who moments earlier demonstrated lively animation, departed to a world beyond my comprehension.
My fixation never wavered.
His eyes, those empty huge eyes.
The image of life's transition from pure energy to one of still condemnation followed me to my present state. What began with the doomed gentleman, transferred unto neighborhood strays such as cats and dogs. Their automatic whimpers did little more than entertain my morbid curiosity. As I found creative ways to dispose of them, I concentrated on the eyes. I felt like a god when witnessing the transfer of life, until that brief moment, just before the terrifying revelation struck their consciousness and morphed into total acceptance.
With the natural progression of curiosity, my experimental subjects evolved to beings with a more developed form of consciousness.
So, as I placed the drug dealer's tongue in the jar with the formaldehyde solution, my concentration shifted to his big wide eyes. From prior experience, I knew his muscles tightened while he struggled with the sturdy straps. His entrapped frail legs writhed side to side like a quadriplegic sprinting to an enticing, yet improbable cure.
"Relax. You should feel privileged that I chose you."
My soothing voice lulled him into a false sense of slumber, creating the illusion of eventual freedom. The spell remained unbroken until I lifted the foot-long machete from the steel tray.
The drug dealer's invalid assumption gave way to outrage. His fiery eyes remained defiant, even when I pressed the edge against his throat. Applying just enough pressure, blood trickled down his neck and onto the table. Rivulets of urine cascaded down his legs, mixing with the stench of feces. I basked in his newfound realization that arrogance could not make the journey with him.
There was no need for me to speak. In moments like this, nothing I could say would make the transition of power as alluring as the promise of certain death.
As I leaned against the second floor window and watched a heated argument unfold between two patrons in front of the neighborhood pub, nothing could have prepared me for the event to come. At first, dark, disturbing words spewed from the taller gentleman. His frustration spread across his face. A street lamp's iridescent glow illuminated his gaunt cheekbones, as his fiery eyes threatened the stout, much smaller man.
With one swift motion, the little gentleman produced what I now know to be a snub-nosed, .38 caliber, nickel-plated Colt, not unlike the toy my parents had bought me. While thoughts of a comic drama unraveled before my virgin eyes, a sharp blast, followed by a puff of blue smoke, surrounded the duo. The tall man recoiled, held his chest, pleading with his eyes. Once again, the disturbing popping echoed throughout the street, followed by the ominous cloud. Burnt metal permeated the night air.
"That'll teach you to steal from me, you prick!"
I ducked behind the curtains while the gunman searched his surroundings. Somehow, I sensed his menacing stare penetrate through the wooden frame like daggers launched with expert precision.
Curiosity drove me to rise while the frantic little man scurried away, leaving his nemesis on the pavement.
At first, I puzzled over the injured man's safety, but when he moved his hand towards the heavens, a heavy sigh of relief escaped me. Maybe the little man used a toy gun after all. Any delusions I had began to evaporate when my focus shifted from his bony fingers to his wide, frightened eyes. They pleaded with me as if I, a young lad, could swoop down and take away his pain. Although time whispered of its eminent departure, it froze when our eyes locked. Then, like a wild fire's rapid consumption of its natural forested habitat, a pool of blood surrounded the man as if attempting to disinfect him of his sins.
Shivers traveled up and down my spine as images of evil flashed before me. The pale man’s habit of thievery began at boyhood. With every terrible deed I witnessed, an electrical sensation rocked deep inside my chest transferring energy all over my body. The euphoric vibes dissipated when his eyes took on a glassy glow. I sensed that the gentleman, who moments earlier demonstrated lively animation, departed to a world beyond my comprehension.
My fixation never wavered.
His eyes, those empty huge eyes.
The image of life's transition from pure energy to one of still condemnation followed me to my present state. What began with the doomed gentleman, transferred unto neighborhood strays such as cats and dogs. Their automatic whimpers did little more than entertain my morbid curiosity. As I found creative ways to dispose of them, I concentrated on the eyes. I felt like a god when witnessing the transfer of life, until that brief moment, just before the terrifying revelation struck their consciousness and morphed into total acceptance.
With the natural progression of curiosity, my experimental subjects evolved to beings with a more developed form of consciousness.
So, as I placed the drug dealer's tongue in the jar with the formaldehyde solution, my concentration shifted to his big wide eyes. From prior experience, I knew his muscles tightened while he struggled with the sturdy straps. His entrapped frail legs writhed side to side like a quadriplegic sprinting to an enticing, yet improbable cure.
"Relax. You should feel privileged that I chose you."
My soothing voice lulled him into a false sense of slumber, creating the illusion of eventual freedom. The spell remained unbroken until I lifted the foot-long machete from the steel tray.
The drug dealer's invalid assumption gave way to outrage. His fiery eyes remained defiant, even when I pressed the edge against his throat. Applying just enough pressure, blood trickled down his neck and onto the table. Rivulets of urine cascaded down his legs, mixing with the stench of feces. I basked in his newfound realization that arrogance could not make the journey with him.
There was no need for me to speak. In moments like this, nothing I could say would make the transition of power as alluring as the promise of certain death.
There you have it. Proof that there’s power in the eyes and if you know what to look for, the eyes can reveal so much.
You may find a version of this story on WDC, though I plan on tweaking it to the point it becomes publishable so that I may offer it as an e-book by the end of summer.
I hope you enjoyed this eye-opening revelation.
Catch you on the dark side.
Nomar Knight
© Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills presentation.
Eye-opening revelation indeed. Eyes: mirrors to the soul, no matter how twisted that soul might be.
ReplyDeleteThe unleashing of bodily functions at the time of death is one I am very familiar with. Good touch!
I will see much more of you . . . on the Dark Side.
Blaze
tweaking it to the point it becomes publishable?????????? all it needs is more, the rest stays! I want to read that when you're done!
ReplyDelete