Page 12 of The Dire Legacy

There’s this odd moment as the edge slides along my eye where I can still see her out of it, but it’s warped and misshapen as the pain sets in.

Stabbing, searing fire burns into my orbit as I watch her remove my eyeball and stretch it away from my face, the root of it still clinging within my head. It’s always a shock when I can still see out of it as she holds it in her hand.

Oh, there’s Roger. He’s wispy. The syringe he’s pushing into my arm makes it hard to see through the fog.

There’s a clang and a soft tap sound and the scalpel appears. A fast cut with a new lance of agony and my vision of him disappears.

“Do you want cauterization?” Dr. Falen’s face rematerializes.

“Fuck no. That shit hurts.” A warm ribbon of liquid works its way down my cheek. I’d rather the bleeding than that damned hot poker being driven into my socket again.

It only took once to learn that lesson.

How old was I? Do I even remember my first eye?

Turning her down every time has become a routine. She offers. I refuse. It’s our dance. Pirouette. Bow. Burn. Cut. Repeat.

The table flips over. They’ve given up being gentle for the sake of time. Swell. Only a tiny bit of nausea until I’m staring at the floor watching a string of blood reach down and pool first in tiny drops that melt into a unified congealing puddle.

If I really try to focus, I can almost catch the reflection of the hole in my face in the growing pond.

Loch-eye. Sounds Scottish. If only a clot monster would rise from its depths and swallow me whole.

My back gets cold as the panel on my mighty throne is opened.

They stopped swabbing me with iodine years ago. I’m glad. That shit was cold. It’s not like I ever get an infection. If only.

The blood hazes just a little. “Thank you Roger. I promise not to go for the eyes next time.” Saliva drips from my mouth, racing the last few drops of blood to the white tiled floor.

Spit won!

My momentary celebration erupts in a scream, squeezing my eyelids shut as the bite of the scalpel runs into the soft flesh above my hip. One long cut goes from my left, across my spine, and to the right.

“Roger! I’m clawing your other eye out!” Digging my nails into my palms does little to distract me.

A new surge of heat runs into my arm and the edge of the searing pain dulls with the onrush of drugs. I can hear a dopey giggle break from my lips and my words slur. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

There’s a heavy pressure on my back. Squishing noises. A slowly sharpening ache as the meds wear off.

Blinking, I can see in three dimensions again and clarity sets in. My missing eye grew back while I was screaming.

Shoes shuffle in and out of view. I wonder who my kidneys are being rushed to?

No, I really don’t. I’m just glad it isn’t another heart.

Those fuckers hurt.

They used to try and lie to me, telling me I was helping injured and children. I know better. The real recipients show their faces sometimes.

Old. Rich. The air of importance. But, who do they worship?

That’s right. Me.

They’d all be dead without me.

When the table flips over, I search the observatory as soon as my head is free.

Yep. At least four of them are watching today. With their pressed shirts rolled up as my blood is pumped into their veins.

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