The Everlasting Gaze

         You probably wouldn’t believe me if I tell you the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. She won’t forgive me and go away, so expecting forgiveness from a stranger like you is pointless. I just wish someone would understand.
         I stumbled out of the bar, much to the bartender’s dismay. He tried to call a cab. I told him that he should keep mixing drinks and shut his god-damn mouth. In the end, I won.
         Barreling down the puddled streets, the rain pelted me from above like God was taking a nice, long piss. I’ve always pictured God as some little kid with a magnifying glass burning ants for fun. Why wouldn’t he piss all over me too?
         Ahead was my three story apartment building. It was the kind you see in movies where people fall asleep on the stairs. Or the one where you climb stairs dodging toys in hopes of not breaking your neck.
         Inside, I approached my personal hellhole and the door was already open. Normally, I might have had a more rational approach. That is before I polished off almost an entire bottle of tequila. To-kill-ya they call it. The irony just pisses me off now.
         I stormed in the door, fists raised.
         “If there’s anyone in here I’m going to kill you!! You hear me?”
         The coat rack was knocked over as I tore inside, sloshing wet boots all over the carpet. I slammed doors and stomped my feet loudly. If you tromp around the house like a dinosaur, the would-be burglar might tremble in mortal fear.
         Rawr.
         After a few minutes of this prehistoric dance, I decided it was enough. I was drunk and tired. Maybe the door hadn’t latched when I left earlier? Who knows? I do now.
         On the edge of the bed, I pulled my wet boots off. The rotten cheese fragrance of three day old socks hit my nose like a left jab.
         “Ugh. You stink.”
         What can I say? I talk to myself. A lot.
         I fell backward onto the bed, still in my soaked trench coat, and reached to turn off the lamp next to the bed. My arm flailed right and sent it smashing to the floor in pieces. The noise was deafening. It made my heart race like a chainsaw. The room was almost pitch black now, except for the passing car lights below and the faint note of street lamps in the distance. The creepy strobe light effect of the cars driving by didn’t help. I was on edge.
         I couldn’t sleep with my heart going. I laid there and looked around the room slowly, gave a sigh, and then I saw it.
         A headlight lit up the room and caught the glossy, wetness of a single eye. It stared at me from a slight opening in the closet door-- unblinking. I had forgotten to check the closet. Idiot. I would have been paralyzed in terror were it not for a healthy liquid courage injection.
         I studied the eye for a while, faking sleep, and then traced the room for something... anything. Finally, there it was: a big sliver of ceramic lamp cadaver lay beside the bed. I connected the dots for my plan.
         Marking the place where the terrible eye glared, I waited for the cars to pass. When darkness came, I sprang into action. Adrenaline guided me with unrivaled super powers. My hand grasped the ceramic dagger and I drove that thing like Ahab with a harpoon into that evil eye. It shrieked deafeningly so I drove the impromptu knife into its juicy depths over and over.
         “Die, you mother fucker!”
         Something dropped with a thunk. I leapt to the switch on the far wall and flicked the lights on. Instant daytime. Cautiously walking to the closet, with a deep gasp, I surveyed my handiwork.
         The pajamas were Morgan’s. She was always leaving her Barbies in the stairway. Somehow, she must have gotten in my apartment and hid in my closet. The shard fell from my hand when I understood how much trouble I was really in. I was epically fucked. I had to get out of there. Now.
         I slammed the closet door closed, shut the light off, and escaped the room. Then I raced down the stairway desperately.
         “Excuse me!”
         A lady was walking up the stairs as I was headed down. I recognized her as Morgan’s mother. I tucked my bloody hands into my big pockets.
         “Uh, yeah? What do you want, Alice?”
         “Christ, you smell like a brewery, John.”
         “I don’t need to hear that shit.”
         I started walking again and she grabbed my shoulder. My hands went deeper into my coat pockets.
         “We were playing hide and seek and I think Morgan ran upstairs. I can’t find her anywhere! Have you seen her?”
         “Nope. Sorry!”
         I shrugged her hand off my shoulder and beat feet down the stairs--barefoot mind you. I never went back to that apartment, to my job, to anything. I don’t even go by John anymore.
         The streets are my home now, but that infernal eye comes around often. It looks out of garbage cans at me when I look for food. It stares out of the darkness when I turn the corner. Sometimes it shrieks just like that little girl when I try to sleep. It is always watching me.
         I can’t stand when people look at me. It’s always her accusing eye looking back, piercing me. I try to look down at my feet, but sometimes... people force me to look at them. They end up regretting it.
         The police are looking for me. They are going to find me at some point.

         See, I figured you wouldn’t believe it was a big misunderstanding. No one ever does. Fuck your forgiveness too.

         Just don’t ever try to look me in the eyes, buddy.

         I’ll dig them out with my thumbs...
         
         and squash them with my toes.