His Eyes


I grew up on Ficlets. There, the writer inside me had a home. I'm a teacher now, and a 4th grader who reminds me so much of myself asked, "Why don't you share your writing with us?" So, I come tentatively, searching for a place to stretch my writing muscles again.

There was something about his eyes. Not dreamy or wistful. Not deep and romantic, or glassy and vacant. Not even something about the color, an unremarkable gray. It was hard to put your finger on, the thing about his eyes.

They were...oh, bother. Perhaps there isn't a word. At least, not in English. Maybe in some primordial tongue there's a word for the way his eyes could pierce your soul with a strike so true you wouldn't know what hit you until the damage was long done.

It would take Bryant months to realize exactly what they'd done to him, that man's eyes.

By then, it would be too late.


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Comments (2 so far!)

Average reader rating 4.00/5



Oh I find this so intriguing! As I have had similar thoughts about a friend of mine, I definitely can relate to your words here. Poor Bryant.

  • #1639 Posted 6 years ago
  • 0
  • 4 out of 5
Mighty-Joe Young LOA

Mighty-Joe Young LOA

I agree with Binky this is very intriguing and you successfully hooked me.

  • #1700 Posted 6 years ago
  • 0
  • 4 out of 5


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  • Published 6 years ago.
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