The Bright Blue Eyes of Death

Before I attempt to describe the horrific events that have confined me to this encircling cell, I must dissolve any presumed predispositions of the manner in which my life has been led. I exist firmly within the proper sphere of sanity. I have thus far lived my life with devout clarity in all matters, and that includes the matter at hand. In fact, it is only an innocent curiosity that has landed me within this dreary place where I will now be forced to face the skeptical minds of men who will never see this misunderstanding as anything outside of maliced mischief.

You see, throughout my entire life I had never witnessed death. Whether it be accredited to soft upbringings or purely luck in life, never once had demise crossed my path. While most men would be satisfied and perhaps joyful with the pre-described fact, I myself found only dissatisfaction. I feared a number of things could eventually result in my ignorance. I currently live my life rather timidly, never truly testing the limits of life, but without a brush or encounter with the black cloak of death, I feared that I might find confidence in invincibility; a misconception that always leads its followers away from the light of life. So one morning I decided it, I would find death.

Such a crusade is un-heard of, this cannot be argued, but since I found it a necessity for the continuation of my life, I tossed aside my reservations and began to think of methods. I sat at my second story window one fine foggy morning. The town square bustled below the opened window everyday, and it was my firm belief that somewhere throughout all the crowd I could find one candidate to quench my darkest of thirsts. I felt the best procedure that I could perform existed within the wise confines of the unconscious mind. I believe that deep within us all there shines a light of intelligence that possesses the answers to all inquisitions. So I closed, or rather, let my eyes fall shut. The crisp air from outside slid swiftly into my room, excavating all the apprehension of my upcoming actions, and I waited until I felt that tell-all tick of the unconscious. I slowly opened my eyes, and my stare fell upon his face.

Much to my surprise, the wisdom that resided in the barricades of my mind selected quite an interesting figure. I expected to shine this most grim of spotlights onto a croupping cough or one under the decrepit domination of age, but this was not the case. My eyes, my harsh, sad eyes, fell onto the bright young face of a boy. Not just any boy, mind you, but a beautiful boy, with eyes that shone blue like a distant ocean, and whose cheeks possessed a perpetual radiance. He could not have been passed the age of 10. A few scattered strands of blonde hair shot out the bottom of a tightened ball-cap. It was worn, and held the prideful brilliance of a valued hand-me-down. A dingy white shirt floated about his body, and his pants were cut off at the knee. In his right hand he carried a small wooden box, and over his left shoulder a splintered fishing pole was slung.

I made no inquiries to this divinely influenced selection but jumped to my feet quickly in order to follow this youthful leader of my hopeful enlightenment. I made it to the street in such haste that I had forgotten shoes and even left my overcoat upstairs. I possessed much worry of his disappearance within that social sea of people, but above the crowd bounced the glistened the brilliance of a fishing hook. I followed the spark of light, very discretely mind you, through weaving streets and angered mobs, all the way to the countryside. I trailed perhaps 100 yards behind him, and much to my benefit he did not once search behind for followers. Why would he in a world as peaceful and pleasant as that of a child?

The countryside opened up into a wide valley that was heartily enclosed by cascading hills. With the morning's breath still very fresh, the long shadows of the hilltops loomed ominously across the foggy overcast, and allowed me to stalk closer to the child. Time passed in a most tedious form, gripped by the anxious hands of anticipation which possess the power to stretch an instant into a lifetime. The landscape dipped down suddenly and before mine eyes rested the shady presence of a small lake. The child had familiarized himself with the setting some time ago for upon his arrival he made his way straight to a neighboring oak where he retrieved some morsel of food that most resembled a sandwich.

He treaded lightly along the edge of the lake to its eastern most tip. Jutting out perhaps 30 feet from the crumbly existence of the soft soiled bank was a tired and worn dock. No wider than four feet, this shaky contraption was decrepit with age. Its faded boards were worn and warped, and were completely overtaken by various frays and splinters in the wood. The boy walked comfortably out onto the dock, with an apparent confidence in invincibility, much like myself, but unlike my own his was due to the blissfulness of childhood, which knew no fear outside of the absence of a mother. Despite the minuscule impact that his small weight could possess, the age-old establishment creaked slightly as he made his way to its edge.

He placed the tackle box to the right of his body as he slowly bent down to sit. His feet quickly curled in beneath him and he pulled a worm from a small foam container which sat inside the box. Layering its body quickly upon his hook, the young bright-eyed child tossed his first cast carelessly into the water, and its impact rippled the surface of the soft green lake. Quickly, and much to the boy's surprise, the stick which acted as his pole, bent furiously towards the water. He jumped to his feet with a look of supreme delight glowing across his already bright face. He pulled vigorously upon the pole, once, twice, three times without any apparent impact on the catch. Finally, as one last effort to urge the line towards the dock, he bent his body low and one sweeping motion jumped with all his might, throwing his arms behind him as he did so. The fish, which was a quite large and respectable catch, was flung over the boy’s head, and landed just feet from where I was standing. A loud crash rang out in the air and when my eyes fell back upon the dock, the boy was nowhere to be found. The dock had given way.

Loads of white foamy water were spilling recklessly onto what remained of the shaky establishment, staining the faded wood to a temporarily dark deep brown. I crept as light as I possibly could upon the surface of the dock, hoping to get a closer look at the demise which appeared to be inevitable. The boy's head was bobbing furiously as he struggled to remain afloat. His blonde hair was matted against his brow, and his face which earlier possessed the glow youth now radiated with the redness of fear. His struggle began to weaken with exhaustion as he stared deeply into my eyes, questioning my lack of action with the most desperate look imaginable as his cries for help slowly faded away. Though his eyes were dipping beneath the waters surface, I noticed tears beginning to welt, magnifying the blue brilliance which they so possessed.

All of the sudden from behind me charged two men who had apparently witnessed my lack of action. They grabbed me violently from my laid out position and dragged me recklessly to the water's bank. I slipped from their grip momentarily as they yelled curses at my condemned soul, and sprinted back to the dock's edge. A tiny hand was all that remained above the water's surface, and as the men again grabbed me from behind, I saw the bright blue eyes of death as they fell into the darkness of the water, like tiny emerald stars disappearing into a black night. My simple curiosity, my dark thirst, had been quenched.