Operation

Remember me? Whispered my surgeon slowly…

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Spotted in space

Spotted in space. Earliest sighting around satellites, shocked an astronomer, intrigued his colleague.  Closer and closer, black were the eyes that looked back at them. Eyes empty on closer examination, skin decayed, perhaps mummified. Larger than an average man, face contorted and caught in a scream. The horror of decay, the intrigue of how it went there, how it stayed there all gone when they saw it’s mouth move. Astronomers swear they heard their names.

Apologies

I’m sorry, really I am. It was never my intention to steal your glass eye. I saw it by the darkened desk side as you dozed a cyclopes, and if Sinbad was anything to go by this was my time to strike.

What a treasure it was! Iris as green as an emerald sky, pupil black as the charcoal you draw with. I thought it might be something nice to remember you by, it had great potential for decor back at home. It might go great by my teal painted door. How it would gleam by my first edition Guide to Shogunates, a bust of mazdak, broken china and burnt feathers.

Yes, something to remember you by, an eye for an I! Surely the flowers I left should make up for it. It’s a fair exchange! In the land of the blind, all you need is an eye.