Windows to the Soul

*As it happens, I ended up re-doing this one at a later stage. I liked the idea but felt it was lacking. Regardless, I’m throwing everything up here, the stuff I like and the stuff I don’t.
I wouldn’t say this one is explicitly gory, but it’s not terribly sterile either. So, reader discretion is advised?
As always, feel free to comment (or not), and judge me on this thing what I’ve written!

*Wordcount: 522 words.

I hope this doesn’t come across as ‘creepy’, but I’ve always liked eyes. They’re the first thing I notice when I meet someone for the first time. So simple, so overlooked, I appreciate them more than any other part of the human anatomy. All my loves, my good friends, I noticed their eyes. Regardless of colour, or shape, or whatever differences you could find, they’re all beautiful.
Windows to the soul, and all that.
I couldn’t help myself; I just had to start collecting.

No one I knew, at first. People I met at bars, the odd homeless or two. I sought beautiful, stunning eyes. Kept them in jars, did my best to preserve them. I was still learning, and, as you can imagine, I did lose a few of them.
But it was good practice.

By the way, I recommend you inspect your eyes. Go to a mirror, use a torch or your phone or some light source, and look at them. Look at the patterns, the fine weaving of thread-like pigments, making up the iris. So often it comes down to what colour your eyes are, but there’s so much more. Search for the beauty, and look into your soul.

A close friend of mine had stunning eyes. Heterochromia, a difference between two pigments, in this case in the eyes. One eye was blue, the other was brown. You can understand why I needed them in my collection. I tried to explain it to him, but he didn’t understand. I even left him alive afterwards, that is until his whimpering got to me. Such beautiful eyes didn’t belong in someone so pathetic anyway, I did us all a favour.

I often inspect my eyes. I suppose you’ve realised by now that this has been a long-time fascination for me, but you need to understand. I love my eyes more than any other. Of course, removing your own eyes is difficult.
It would take a lot of practice.

I did have to go ‘on the run’ as they say. I had collected all I wanted from those around me, and there was nothing left. I took my collection as I went, and added to it when I was so inclined. Found a nice abandoned warehouse, or at least I assumed it was abandoned. Served the function it needed to anyway.

I was hopped up on painkillers. I didn’t want my hands to shake. I had done this many times, I understood the principals. This wouldn’t be easy, but I was ready. I had practiced.

I set the jar down on the metal table beside me. It went better than expected. A welcome darkness suffused me, and it was all I had left.
I felt along the table, finding the familiar shape.
I had achieved what I wanted; my eyes would be preserved.
Of course, without my eyes, I was worthless.
I cradled the gun, tracing the shape of the barrel and feeling the cold steel.
I was shaking now, out of fear or anticipation I could not say.

It really didn’t matter either way, you see, I had lost my soul.


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