Dead Eyes

Gladys

*Gladys POV*

I barely remember the time before the Deadeyes came and took over. They're disgusting. They've ripped apart more people than are alive now. I can't recall what I actually did with my life before, but I remember when whatever I was ended.

I was sitting in my kitchen, going through some junk mail. The TV was acting up, making my Rachael Ray go fuzzy. My basenji started to yap at it, so I got up to yell at him when the television snapped into clarity. But it wasn't Rachael Ray.

"Please excuse this interruption," said the frazzled-looking reporter, her curled hair looking flat. She was an overweight woman, with her hair dyed bright red. her eyebrows were also that ruby color, and it clashed severely with her soft pink blouse. She looked like a valentine.

She went on and on about terrorist attacks, all while trotting through the city. There were many people outside, all trying to ask questions, but she brushed them all off, telling them to return home. She ended up in a weird-looking industrial area, and she kept talking while going down some stairs, until the broadcast cut, and it was back to the Rachael Ray rerun.

I moved to the window, looking down from my second-story apartment. Lots of people were standing outside, talking in little groups. The manager came out, and they moved to where I couldn't see. I heard some shouting, and one woman let out a yelp. I took out my cell phone and called one of my neighbors. No answer. I tried my landlady. No Answer. I looked out the window again, to see if anyone had moved into my field of vision. No dice.

"I'll be right back," I said to my dog. He ran to the door with me, but I kicked him aside. I got a weird feeling in my chest as I shut the door. Almost shortness of breath. My hand lingered on the doorknob. I shook myself and made my way down the steps, beginning to see more people outside. I walked toward a particularly large group, assuming that's where the manager was. I spotted my neighbor, Mr. Larkski. His large frame was hunched over, intently staring down at the middle of the crowd. I neared the group, feeling a strange sense of capability. I made to touch Mr. Larkski's shoulder, but then I saw what they were staring at.

It made me sick to my stomach. It was a squirrel, just like the other ones that roamed around the complex. But this one had no head, and its intestines were hanging out.

"Oh, God," I said, turning to the other people.

"It's like my wife said, she's in DC!" a man said frantically, dropping to the ground. A young woman knelt by him, shaking him.

"It's like who said? DC? What's in DC? Brad!"

"Shut up...SHUT UP!" screamed Brad, clutching his head.

"I heard what happened in DC, too!" came the voice of a scrawny-looking boy in a UPS uniform. He was carrying a few packages but tossed them down easily.

"People are losing their minds over there! 'Says people are mauling animals 'an I also heard,"

he squinted his eyes with a grin.

"They eatin' people too!" he whispered.

"Now that is the biggest load of B.S. I have ever heard in my life!" shouted a provocative woman.

The UPS boy laughed, his Adam's apple wiggling.

"No...NO!" screamed Brad, shaking horribly.

"It's true! My wife said it! They're covering it up! THEY'RE EATING PEOPLE!" he screeched, digging his nails into his scalp.

"So, they're on bath salts?" whispered Mr. Larkski, looking concerned.

"Wha- NO NOT BATH SALTS!" Brad yelled.