By Sarah Rodecker
Halfway down 22nd Avenue, a linebacker wannabe nearly knocked me over. I twisted around him, threaded between a mother and daughter, and sidestepped a yapping fur ball. All the while, my focus never left the woman.
She stood with her back against a storefront wall, staring at me with purple eyes. Yep. Purple.
Looking both ways to see if anyone else noticed the anomaly, I struggled toward her against the push of the crowd. “If you don’t mind my asking,” I said as I slipped under the awning, “why doesn’t anyone else notice your eyes? They’re… unique.”
They flashed as she answered, “People only see what they want to, Antony.”
“No offense, but I don’t want to see glowing purple eyes either.” I chuckled, then stiffened as her words hit me. “Wait. How did you know my name?”
An amused smile crossed her face. “Do you think these eyes are only for decoration?”
No. I thought they were for scaring the living daylights out of me.
“I see more than you know, Antony.”
“Sorry about that.” If I saw even a fraction of what went on in this city, I’d be scarred for life.
“Yes,” she said forlornly. “It’s not a life for the weak of heart. So many refuse to follow my advice and wind up dead.”
Weird. “So why did you want to talk to me?”
“You’re in trouble, Antony. If you don’t heed my words, you, too, will die.”
Normally, a seasoned city dweller like myself wouldn’t listen to some whack job on the side of the street telling you you’re about to die, but for those eyes? I figured I could make an exception. “Okay, what do you have for me?”
“Don’t go to the concert this weekend. The roads will be too slick.”
Now this might be where I draw the line. “Look, I’ve had that ticket for months. It was nearly impossible to get it.”
Her eyes turned lavender, tears forming on her lower lids. “Very well, Antony. When the time comes and you recall my words, remember: it’s not too late.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile and pressed on through the thick crowds.
That weekend, icy rain pelted my windows as I got ready. I glanced at the gray skies outside and winced. Maybe I should stay home. My gaze fell to the ticket—the one that took me three tour rounds to nab—and I sighed. It would be fine, right?
Tugging on my coat, I snatched up my ticket and headed out the door.
Ice stung my cheeks as I slogged down the streets. I should’ve brought an umbrella. If I didn’t get hit by some out-of-control car on my way there, I’d likely die of a cold later.
The woman’s words echoed in my mind. Remember: it’s not too late.
I patted my coat pocket, feeling the ticket tucked inside. This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.
But those eyes… It wasn’t every day you came across glowing purple eyes that sent chills down your spine.
With a groan, I clenched my fists and marched back home.
Once I’d gotten out of my soaked clothes and into my favorite sweatpants and T-shirt, I settled on my bed and scrolled through my news feed, my thumb feeling like lead as I passed my friends’ posts about the concert. An hour dragged by before I gave up and threw my phone onto a nearby chair. I’d deal with it tomorrow.
The next morning, a brilliant ray of sunshine cut through my windows. I stumbled to the bathroom and nearly tripped over the pile of clothes I’d unceremoniously deposited on my floor the night before.
When I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I did a double take. It wasn’t because of the haphazard state of my hair or the unsightly pillow lines on my face. What made my stomach turn were my eyes.
My purple eyes.
Snatching my keys, wallet, and cellphone, I raced out of the house. As I shoved my way through the mass of bodies, I scrolled frantically through my phone, scanning social media and my news apps. I stopped at a headline reading: Icy Road Conditions Cause Multiple Accidents. I checked the time and location, sucking in a breath as I did.
It happened right where I would have walked on my way home last night.
My heart pounded as I tucked my phone away and hurried back to 22nd Avenue.
She waited right where I’d left her. Her eyes softened when she spotted me. “You listened,” she said, her voice tinted with surprise.
“Why are my eyes purple?” I demanded.
“You listened. Because of that, you now have the power to foresee other people’s doom.”
Great.
“It’s a heavy burden,” she continued. “Carry it wisely.”
No kidding. Already, I could see visions of the untimely deaths of passersby. A little girl crossed the street in front of me, hand in hand with her mother. I wanted to run and tell her not to climb the tree in her backyard that afternoon—that the branch would snap under her—but by the time I realized what was going on, they had disappeared into the crowd.
A foul taste rose in my mouth.
Never thought I’d be calling out doom and gloom on the sidewalk, but stranger things happen in this city all the time. Trust me. I’m a certified member of the Glowing Purple Eyes of Doom Club. I see more than you know.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I love the tongue-in-cheek voice your character has.
I feel bad for him, though, seeing all that stuff that he can’t stop.
GPEDC – sounds pretty exclusive. tell us more!
Gotta feel for the guy. What a way to get a new job–listening to advice.
Rose,
Thank you! I enjoyed his character voice. It was fun to write.
Yeah…he’s got it rough, that’s for sure!
SC,
It’s very exclusive, lol! So much so that I don’t even know the half of it!
Susan,
Yes, he’s got a tough time of it now! LOL, it’s for sure an interesting way to get a job!
HA!!! I love this!!! Seriously, the Glowing Purple Eyes of Doom Club. I need that on a t-shirt.
Enjoyed the concept. Interesting that, because he did the right thing, he becomes burdened instead of rewarded. That was surprising.
Helena,
LOL! That would make a great t-shirt quote!!
jdoran,
I didn’t even think of it as a burden instead of a reward, but that’s very true! Thanks for pointing that out!
Quite good. Kept my attention. Carry on with your budding talent.
Good story! But what a curse to have.