All my life I had trouble with my vision. For a long time I had walked around almost blind but able to see just a bit. Others would make fun of me and laugh as I stumbled into objects and people due to my bad eye sight. It wasn’t my fault my parents couldn’t afford glasses or the insurance it took to have them covered.

 

It wasn’t until my later years, in my late teens, where I got my first pair of decent glasses. Of course by that time I was almost legally blind from going years without proper eye care. There are no words to describe how amazing it was to see clearly for the first time in my life. At first I passed out from the excitement of it all, and then I had to adjust to them. Walking around with them for the first week was like walking around in a tank full of water; my equilibrium was a little off.

 

After that first week things were normal, and the bullying stopped. I never really knew how I looked; just got the sad impression of a dark skinned boy with plump lips and long curly black hair. When I got to see my reflection for the first time, I cried. I finally knew how I looked and why I was picked on so much. So I got a part-time job after school and started working to help with much of my appearance.

 

A month later, I had a fresh hair cut that was still long enough to have some curls, I dressed as what most would consider prep, and my shoes were the latest fad that was going around. I admit I was very handsome with my hazel eyes and freckled nose; I got a lot of attention from women.

 

It wasn’t until one night work that I wish I had gone blind. I was coming home from work one night, and on the train I witnessed a murder. It was just three of us on the car when it happened. There was this old lady sitting at the opposite end of me. She was just staring out the window when it happened all of a sudden. The man who was sitting across from me got up and stood behind the lady; of course, she was oblivious to the man.

 

He stared at the back of her head for what it seemed all of five minutes. I wanted to say something to the lady but the words wouldn’t form in my mind; something just told me to watch. The train halted to a stop and two other men got on the train, and when they sat down the man was still standing behind the old woman. They were oblivious to the man in all black and a hoodie standing, but I stared at him until he looked me right in the eye. My gut twisted in terror as I exchanged gazes with him right before his right arm became a scythe and took the old woman’s head clean off.

 

Blood squirted and shot through the air along with the sounds of my fear. The old woman’s head flew towards me and landed at my feet. I screamed and tried to move as the blood started to pool at my feet. A loud ominous laugh echoed throughout the cart as I scrambled to get to the door as we came up to the next stop. I noticed the two men asking me what’s wrong while keeping a good distance away from me. I pointed to the headless body of the old woman, and that’s when they looked back at me.

 

One of the guys asked, “Excuse me ma’am are you ok?”

 

There was no reply. The other guy went over and checked her and stated she had no pulse. She was dead. Apparently her head was still intact and there was no blood anywhere. What had I witnessed? Why was I the only one that was able to see?

 

Image: from Pintrest

 

The inspiration for this short story comes from my recent visit to the eye doctor. In under a year my eye sight has gotten a bit worse, but I’ll be ok. As we age many things begin to deteriorate. I started wearing glasses back in third grade, but I was able to see a bit fine without any glasses. Unlike the protagonist, I was able to get glasses at a young age. So here my next series has come from. It’ll be about a boy who is able to see supernatural things that the regular human eye can’t see. It was all triggered by him being able to see clearly for the first time. Was he able to see things outside of the norm before he got the glasses? Who knows. I surely do not. Hope you all enjoy the Four Eyes Series.

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