The Eye (Short Story)

it isn’t easy. it isn’t simple. there’s an eye on my window. the eye is brown. i want to touch it. i go outside to have dinner.

i come back to my room. the eye is still there. it seems bored. how it got there is a mystery. but i wonder, how does it not fall? i don’t recall glue being being effective in glueing eyes to windows. i fall asleep, my face facing the window.

i don’t dream and i wake up five hours later. the eye looks scared. i go to work.

i come back home later than usual. i bring my girlfriend home. she laughs at the eye. says it’s a funny ornament. we make love. she leaves. the eye is sad.

months have passed. i paint my room yellow. the color of sunflowers. the eye is still there. the eye looks angry.

a year has passed and i own a queen bed. the room is flowery. it smells meaty. the eye is sad.

twenty years have past and the eye is red. my room is dusty. it’s full of ants. the ants crawl on the eye, and take it piece by piece. the eye bleeds. i watch it bleed. i cry. i don’t know why, but i cry.

forty years have passed. i sit down in my new house. i stare at the new window. there is no eye. there’s a reflection.


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