My Short Stories

The Ruby Fire Eyes

Rubies, they were called. Like fire, they were described.

This is the story of the ruby fire eyes, which glimmered, glowed, sparkled, and cast down unfathomable impossibilities of which they became realities.

Jewels of magnificent splendor.

An air of wonder. Aghast with the incredible, bounding light, a person would only stare and be tranced, and fall on their knees, and weeped with sorrow and joy - for those eyes were not theirs, but those eyes were too beautiful to ignore.

Scarlet wind on the dawning sky.

These eyes were cast down from age to age, civilization to civilization, and from person to person. Kings to lowly peasants. Aztec warriors to gold miners. No matter the origins, when they had the eyes, their life was to go for the best.

The scarlet wind was bound to go forever.

When man first gazed upon the stars, and witnessed, and realized just how small and insignificant they truly were, man began to dream - for what little dreamers there actually were. But millions of years before that the ruby fire eyes were created; the final breaths of a dying star mixed with the beckoning light of the newly formed nebula. A gas which became a solid unlike any other.

And down unto earth the eyes fell, like a moon that had fallen out of place with the sky beckoning before it, the eyes fell and landed like feathers, softly and unnoticed. Two bright, shimmering, glowing beauties of the cosmos.

And thus the eyes came to be.

Fifty million years later, on the exact second, a shepherd tended to his flock of blind followers. Leading, through the sands of the Middle East, his flock reverring him for he provided nourishment, and health, and homes, and an ideal lifestyle for which to adopt and pass down to their young calves.

Fifty million years later this shepherd found the ruby fire eyes, bent over and plucked them carefully with two fingers. He inspected their glimmering shapes and looked around himself, knowing he had found a great treasure and knowing that he was currently on his lonesome, the shepherd placed them within the inner confines of his robe, and came home, dug a hole, and burried them deep where only he would know if their existence.

The shepherd became wealthy, and then the shepherd died, all his possessions passed down to his eldest son, amongst which were the ruby fire eyes. The son took them, once he laid eyes, and left everything else, and left where he lived, moved across the known world, far, far away, to places he had never even dreamed about having existed. Spectacular trees sprung, moist, and water fell from the skies day and night.

The son lived happy, old, and died, but was greedy too, and before his final breath came, he took the rubies and smashed them to dust, so none other could have them.

Thus the scarlet wind of the ruby fire eyes was born. Scarlet, young and graceful and beautiful.

The fine dust found a host and migrated unto their own eyes, and the scarlet wind became eyes of their own, and the eyes became like the color of rubies, but had a firery passion to them. Rubies, but with a fire.

And when that person died.

The invisible scarlet wind took flight.

To lands unknown. Civilizations unbound.

So that the ruby fire eyes may be reborn.

Like the day in which they had been born in the beggining.

Up in the cosmos.

From the final breaths of a dying star, mixed with the beckoning light of a newly formed nebula.

A gas which became solid.

A solid which became air.

But all throughout they were eyes. Beautifully shaped eyes. Now born from a scarlet wind. Eyes which held power over men and women alike.