Eyes

      Eyes. Wonderful, amazing things they are. A person's eyes can give away everything about them. They are called the windows to one's soul.
      I've always had a thing for eyes. There is nothing, nothing at all that I love more than staring into someone's eyes. Especially when they are feeling an intense emotion. Fear, anger, joy. All these emotions make the eyes even more beautiful. Now, I've always been fine with just looking into somebody's eyes. Unless I meet somebody with a particularly astounding set of eyes, then I have to take a picture. It's amazing, how much of the emotion and intensity that a camera can preserve in a picture. Some people think it's odd. I know they do. The way they get nervous when I look at them. When I ask to take a picture of their eyes. I can see what is going on in their head. They want to ask, but they don't. It's only a picture, after all.
      I come home after school, and I get on my computer. I do image searches, of eyes. I've found some interesting pictures that way. But most of the time, they've been edited. Run through a program to make it perfect. But they can't beat the real thing. The pictures I take are genuine. If I were to edit them, well, that would make them worthless to me. The whole point is to capture the original beauty. Eyes are naturally beautiful. They need no editing. So when I'm thoroughly disgusted with the pictures on the internet, I just spin my office chair around and look at my wall. My wall of eyes.
      Every picture I've ever taken of anybody's eyes is on that wall. I remember each person. Each location. Each time. Each emotion. I lose myself in the pictures. I lose time. I've spent hours, just staring into these eyes of mine. I feel like I could reach out to one of the photographs, and feel the physical manifestation of the emotion. Sometimes I wish they were more than photos.
      It's amazing, how beautiful other people's eyes are. The vivid colors, the intelligence and emotion behind them. The spirit.
      I hate my eyes. I look into the mirror, and they are dull. So dull. I see no emotion in them. They are bland, boring, uninteresting. They lack the beauty, the intensity. I hate them, so much. I wish that I had another set of eyes.
      But I have a solution. Oh yes, I have a solution.
      I met a person in my first period class. His eyes are amazing. I've seen him charm the girls around him in an instant, with those eyes. They are by far, the most intense pair of eyes I've ever seen. Mine are so dull. If I could just have his eyes. Oh, I would give anything to have his eyes.
      I asked him for a picture. Of his eyes. He just looked at me. He asked me, you want a picture of my eyes? what are you? A faggot?
      I tried to explain, I just loved his eyes. I needed his eyes. Because mine were just horrible.
      But no. He laughs at me. He calls me a faggot. He knocks my camera out of my hand, and it breaks on the hard floor.
      Faggot.
      I'll show him.
      I'll have his eyes.
      The class is laughing at me. Let them laugh. They've been charmed by his eyes. They are on his side.
      If I could just get his eyes.
      They would be on my side.
      Yes. Then HE would be the faggot.
      The eye is round. A soup spoon seems like the perfect tool for digging out an eye.