The Eyes of Jeannie

I have to tell you this; I wouldn’t if it were not so deeply related to my heart but to my mind. I lived with my dearest one, Jeannie. She was as beautiful as a mortal could possibly be, as beautiful as a thread of light, as beautiful as the dawn, ineffable. As the opposite, I was dull, lacked vigor and lived in recluse in a cloister. I was addicted to crystal meth to compensate the loneliness. When I saw her the first time, it was neither with my eyes nor with my heart, but with my attracted mind. Not toward her beauty, but her eyes. Her dark blue eyes were holding all the elixir of life, all the knowledge one could have. Through those dark shimmers, one could see the loneliness, the desire and the love buried. Its shield of lashes, brushing her cheeks and protecting the shimmers every time she blinked, I wished I would’ve had them.

I was a monomaniac. When I was a kid, I used to collect erasers of different types. They were accumulated from returned gifts on the birthday of my classmates and even a birthday gift to myself from my father, but not from my friends because I had none. My father bought me many, but I had not enough. I dreamed about erasers in the shape of a bat, a ball, peanuts, chocolate and many other shapes. I have them all in a safe box. I call it The Pandora Box. A mortal world calls it a hobby; I call it insanity. Just desultory speculation.

I had an obsession over her eyes. I dreamed of them, blue, DARK blue, so perfect! I had never seen such lustrous eyes before. I never loved her much, but I wished I could. She was so caring, so simple and such a perfect mate that anybody would have prayed for her. My love started fading away; she started looking emaciated, pale, not as agile as she used to be, it seemed. Maybe it was my eyes ignoring her beauty, or maybe it was my deleterious obsession.

It was fog all over, but through it I could see a smile and glowing eyes. They were slowly coming toward me, starting to get bigger and bigger. She smiled as she came closer; I was mesmerized and stunned. Those were a source of light themselves. It seemed like a sun was taking its vitality from them. She started to laugh and run, and I, out of amusement, followed her. But then she stopped, turned toward me and began to shudder. She shrieked, but all of my energy focused on her eyes. I saw them, carefully, and so soft were they, sacred and divine. She began to palpitate; I tried to calm her, thinking that she might be having a panic attack, like she had a number of times before. But that time, I wanted to cure her so she would not suffer again. Suddenly the noise calmed down. Then she lay there, still. I woke up abruptly. An overdose of meth, I assumed. My eyes were heavy. I had a lot of dreams lately, seemingly lucid, and that was one of them, I predicted.

I tried to search for Jeannie, but she couldn’t be found. She came running out of the corridor, shuddering, crying, uttering unintelligibly. Her face carried blood stains partially covered with her hair. She had shrieked one last time before she died in my arms. A chill broke my spine when I saw her face. My coat was covered in blood, and my hands were deep red. I started searching, and found out the Pandora box, which lay close to paraphernalia of surgical instruments, forceps and needles. I hurriedly tried to open the box, until I forcefully threw the box at the wall and it burst open. Out of it two round, shimmering, dark, blue things with red tails came out bouncing.


Inspired from the writings of E.A. Poe



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