Peering Eyes

The mangy shirt I wore wasn't at all tight, it was the exact opposite quite frankly. I kept messing with it out of nervous habit as people stared. The stares began to beat down on me as I made my way towards the town. I wasn't wearing a long sleeve shirt and I regretted not doing so. 

I was surrounded by forestry and small houses, the houses ranged from the good, the bad, and even the ugly. My small two-story palace was good enough for me.

Soon enough I made it onto more steady sidewalks. The previous sidewalks seemed to be almost crumbling at the edges, these were smoother. They were most likely built a year or so ago— Wait, why the fuck am I thinking about sidewalks and how worn down they are? 

I shook my head walking into town, a church bell rang loudly above. It echoed about in my head bouncing back and forth like a game of table hockey. Refusing to cover my damaged ears I walked faster, the sound perceiving differently than it did before the war. 

I refuse to show the deadly infection that the war has on my body. It made me feel like I was some fucked up creature in a corpse of a human. Gritting my teeth I walked faster as I tried to get by the church. My glare faced the cement grounds, my physique slouched. A group of children ran by, heading towards maybe the church? I’m unsure. No older than six, they laughed and chattered about their new toys.

The temperature outside was an average warmth, one that doesn’t force you to sweat but you don’t need a jacket either. If I was their age I’d probably be out too. Instead of playing with the other kids, I’d most likely be sitting out in the weed-infested sandbox in the backyard. Playing with the little animal figurines which are probably worth money to this day.

My feet shuffle on the ground as I continue on my journey, a mourning dove coos in the far distance. For the longest time, I had no clue what made that sound. A large statement of my childhood revolved around mourning doves, cicadas, and turkey vultures. Thinking about those times only makes me want to go back home to Florida even more. Back to the times of innocence and color. Where leaves were small rainbows on autumn trees and fences’ still had their paint.

A yawn breaks through, my eyes watering in response— I quickly wipe the tears bubbling in my eyes. I miss those times, yet now after a war of hellscape and torture, I’m no longer in high school. In fact, the exact opposite. Now I’m a 29-year-old man stumbling about life without sight of what the future holds ahead. With not even my late best friend– my lover to accompany me in my struggles. 

No job, and not even any work experience. I don't know what to do. As a child, I would laugh at my older self, and reply with something along the lines of, “Let’s be a cop or a firefighter!” Didn’t we all have that thought as a child? Or was that just me? I’m unsure anymore. I wanted to help people and rescue them from danger. Childishly wanting to be like Superman, it’s very unrealistic— Superman that is. Batman was the more realistic one of the two, that’s probably why he was always my favorite superhero. 

He had trauma, true and unfathomable trauma, though as a kid I never really let it sink in. Now as I’m older, I relate to a DC character drawn in comics or acted out on screen. Silently a hero, though not even real to us. I kick a rock placed accordingly on the sidewalk, watching it skitter ahead of me. As I continue walking I kick it again, watching it bounce slightly. 

It was a mild form of entertainment but it proved useful as I finally arrived at a small café. The bell chimed as a man walked out, the spitting image of 'cold, dark, and brooding.' His auburn red hair fell gently down his shoulders in wavy thick strands. 

My eyes met with his cold dark brown eyes that settled to the sides of his hooked nose. His skin, which could only be described as brown sugar shined in the sun. The look in his orbs was fierce as he strode past me, having places to be. He carried an aura of untouchable stature— as if you even grazed him you'd be gone forever. 

I shivered softly against my best wishes, walking into the café. I quickly ordered a drink with the help of a barista that knew sign language. She smiled gently, one of the kindest people I've met by far. In my wait, I sit at a small table for two glancing out the huge glass windows. 

The café was small yet cozy, the interior was an appealing natural green with hardwood floors that only helped to accent the walls. The industrial look gave it a nice touch of blacks, silvers, and antique golds. The table I sat at appeared cheap upon closer inspection but at first glance, you'd never know. Though my distracted thoughts were soon cut short as a male barista approached me

"One hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings for Noah?" He asked just to make sure, though I eased his thoughts of failure with a nod. "There you go sir, have a fantastic day." He walked away with a little skip in his step, it was— admittedly, cute. 

The sun beamed in, warming me in the air-conditioned café. Neither felt good, the heat nor the cold, but this was a perfect mixture of both. A calmness washed over my body like a hot shower, it was pleasant. 

Yet I couldn't help the feeling of eyes piercing my skin, aside from the patrons within the café I felt another pair. My attention turned towards the images outside of the windows, and magically as my head snapped up the feeling faded. At this point I was beyond confused, why the hell would someone be watching me?

The eyes on me from within the building alone are enough to bother my frazzled mind. Buzzing about, my eyes catch sight of a sketchy character lost to the darkness of an alleyway. His retreating form originally catching my attention as my hands finnick with my drink. Bringing the sweet drink to my lips I gently tip it up as the man disappears. 

Damn this town with its nosey residents and wary figures. The man from before with a fiery mane pierces my mind, his flaming eyes piercing my own. Why must I draw so much attention with my scars and burns? Will the children I saw before perceive me as the crooked man in the decaying house.

Losing the sense of relaxation I wished to achieve, I grabbed the drink and walked out in a haste. Walking down the same cracked sidewalks past the damn church. Something churned in my chest with a deeply rooted sense of wrong. I paused and looked up at the church. Being an atheist I always hated churches. Praying for something that even if real probably didn’t believe in you yourself. 

My chest ached as my stomach sank, get me out of here I thought. Though I didn’t invite it, my feet started to– rather quickly, carry me away from the place. Retracing my steps until I manage to stand right in front of the same rickety fence. A breath I didn’t know I was holding in finally was allowed to escape. Taking a big gulp of the hot chocolate I happily walked through the fence retreating up to the porch. Safely home, at last. Keep your prying eyes away from my body.