Someone Else’s Peepers Part 2
The conclusion
Ilyana felt herself sway as three strangers carried her dangling body through the halls. Gusts of fresh air hit her face as they crest the exit doors leading to her green room. It was that sudden sensation that alerted her to the mob beginning to whip themselves into a frenzy nearby. Chants of “She’s a thief” and “Evil bitch”. Shouts condemning her to prison and even hell.
“I need to speak”, mumbled Ilyana as they attempt to rush her into the back of an ambulance.
“What’d you say Ms. Shaffer?”, replied one of the EMTs. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Ilyana felt the boiling pool inside of her finally reach its peak. The lies, hypocrisy, and sheer hubris of these people to be so closed-minded. It finally got to her.
“Let me speak!” she growled. Reaching up with her hand, Ilyana tugged on the man’s uniformed shoulder and pulled herself up, ignoring the insistence that she lay back down. As she walked through the crowd, Ilyana knew she must have been a sight. A bloody mess hobbling through the masses as she’d just returned from the dead. Well, she had. Come back to haunt the shits that take life for granted. She caught the eye of every person that dared to meet her own. Let them see what fate may await them.
When she felt a clasp on her arm, she knew she was in for a fight. She looked up at an eyeless demon that stood side by side with her. She froze. To her surprise, no one else around her reacted. When the beast reached out to put a hand on her shoulder Ilyana fought the urge to flinch, or rather, her terror did not allow it. If only to prove to herself that this wasn’t real she closed her eyes and shook her head. After several seconds she dared to open her eyes again only to see Fran in its place.
Standing there panting as sweat mixed with blood, Ilyana uttered, “help me”. Without a word Fran helped her pass through the crowd, giving protesters the occasional elbow and even groin knee. Fran lead her up the stairs to the podium where Ilyana began her speech.
“While there are without a doubt a few moral inquiries about restoring someone’s sight through these unconventional means, I implore you to try and open your own eyes to the miracle that I myself have witnessed!” The crowd quieted. She continued, “A blind woman, can now see. When I lost my sight 15 years ago I was taking for granted many of the things that I am sure a majority of you still do to this day. The shape of my mother’s face. Christmas letters from family and old friends.” She looked at Fran and shared a smile. She reached out her hand into the steady snowfall and continued. “ and the sight of the year’s first snow. All of these things were lost to me.”
Ilyana took a moment to scan the crowd. “When a proven method to transfer a donor’s eyes was created the wait list was shortly filled. Not just months or years, but decades. To the point that if I had done it the conventional way, then by the time I saw again these eyes would be wasted on me.”
She looked around at the crowd again. She had their full attention. “ Then…A new way was introduced, and an amendment was made. Townspeople, there is no need to beat around the bush on the subject. Two years ago a man committed a violent, entirely unprovoked, and random murder. For his crimes, he was sentenced to life in prison. I now wear his eyes. Were they to stay with him, they would now look upon concrete walls, never to witness the beauty of the world again.” Ilyana leaned in closer to the microphone. “These eyes would be wasted him.”
An unseen man in the crowd shouted.” That’s just how it starts! First them, then us!” Ilyana tried to rebuttal the ridiculous claim but the crowd found new life with the statement. Soon people were yelling again and even throwing things at the stage shouting about their rights and God’s will. When something hard and metallic hit her head right on her new ear ornament she lost control.
“He had his chance to rights! He lost them. And I hope all of you are next!” The entire courtyard erupted into madness. Soon she was being tugged from behind by who she assumed was security as people began to work up the confidence to rush the stage. Soon Fran was at her side. Ilyana whipped her head towards the sudden movement and knew her eyes must have been something fierce.
“Slow down there Sauron.” She said. “I think it’s time to go.”
In a snowy town, maybe just miles from your own, Ilyana anxiously sits with bated breath, focused on the cold steel pressed against her temple. The handgun sat heavily in her hand. The false images she’d been experiencing have only gotten worse since she was rushed to the hospital where they pulled the metal bracket from her head. Knives turn into hair brushes, nails into lipstick tubes. Ilyana was going mad, She knew it. Yet, sitting here on Fran’s couch, she knew she couldn’t go through with what she was thinking.
Right on cue, Fran walked through the door, hurrying to her side. After a long talk and a hug, Ilyana calms herself again. The last few days have pushed her over the edge, that’s all.
“Hey”, Fran said. “Are you going to be okay when I go to work tomorrow? I totally forgot I signed up. It was before I knew you were coming.” Ilyana stared at her friend puzzled.
“Christmas.” Fran clarified.
Ilyana laughed. With all of the commotion, she’d forgotten all about the holiday. While looking at Fran’s glum expression she saw a sudden rally of confidence in her friend’s expression.
“What time is it?” Fran said facing her.
“6 o’clock. Why?” Fran took a heavy, almost resigned breath and plastered a mischievous smile.
“Wanna get wasted?”
When Ilyana awoke from a night’s long party that consisted of heavy drinking, several karaoke performances, at least 2 bouts of tandem sobs, and a partridge in a pear tree, Christmas music was blaring through speakers in all directions. Her head was rested against the couch where apparently she had passed out sitting upright. A truly drunken feat. After a few moments of wondering how long she’d been asleep, she saw the Christmas box sitting on her lap, all shiny and green. Her heart was struck with glee.
“Thanks, Santa!” she shouted into the open room and waited for Fran to reply. When no reply came she glanced at the clock. It was nearly 9 AM. Fran had no doubt left for her morning shift. With that revaluation, she reached down and pulled back the folds of the wrapped box. It revealed an unmarked cardboard box. Shipped? She thought to herself. Fran must have gone all out.
Ilyana grabbed a box cutter off of the nearby table and slid it along the taped edges of the opening. When she pulled back the lid, glitter blasted upward into the air, landing on her ugly sweater and face. After the shock subsided, she glanced down to see the remnants of a handmade glitter bomb, with a small box tucked into the bottom corner of the bigger box.
Ilyana had no clue what it could be, but it didn’t matter. She had all she needed already. When she could no longer hold back the tears welling up in her eyes, they finally released at the sight of the heart necklace inside. The same one she had given Fran years earlier after a really hard breakup. Ilyana smiled.
“What time is it?”
“6 o’clock,” Ilyana replied. Why?
Fran felt her nerves beginning to calm after the ordeal she walked into. Her friend had it hard over the last few days. She had no idea Ilyana would even think about harming herself, let alone do it. Maybe what she needs is some time away from thinking about how everyone has an opinion of her eyes. Well, Fran was an expert on forgetting unpleasant events.
“Wanna get wasted?” she said.
Over the course of the next few hours, Fran got drunker than she had in years, and from the look on Ilyana’s face, they both shared that feeling. Fran knew that her shift in the morning was going to be a close call at best, and a phone call full of excuses why she can’t come in at worst. She didn’t care, and that wasn’t just the alcohol talking. Her friend needed her, and she had a surprise that would cheer her up in the morning.
When that morning came, Fran awoke to soft pats on her head. As opens her eyes and stares up at Ilyana’s face from her vantage point, she’s flooded with a wave of emotion. Ilyana is sitting there with tears in her eyes staring down at her smiling.
“Thanks, Santa!” Ilyana says, placing a hand on Fran’s head. Then reaches for something on the table beside her. A gift for her perhaps?
Just as Fran was about to say her good morning’s, the bitch reaches down and slits her throat. It happened quickly. It started as a sharp pain that upon prompting her to yell out, quieted her just as soon. Or rather, as a testament to the deepness of the wound, she lost all functionality that would allow her to yell at all. As her body when into shock, and the dimming of consciousness set in, her last images were of her friend Ilyana spattered with her blood, puzzled and looking down at her opened throat. As Fran felt the fingers slipping into the exposed flesh and tugging at her heart necklace he spared one more desperate look at her friend. Ilyana smiled.
