Ugly Woman Handsome Man

Devil Eyes

Chapter One : Devil Eyes

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I open my eyes with a jolt when the auto stops at my house. I climb out quickly, feeling the pressing behind my eyes. With my bag tucked under my arm, I hastily pay the driver and rush as fast as I can to my home. With a quick banana for lunch, I curl up on my bed as tightly as I could. Tears begin rushing and it is a relief to let go… As it had always been…

 *

“Kutti, (Little one)” called my mom from the kitchen.

I got up from my homework and rushed to the kitchen. I was finally on the brink of completing my annual exams. I can't believe that I am going to eighth standard now. I feel so grown up!

“Yes, mom?” I said happily, standing at the entrance.

“Take this coffee to dad, dear.”

I returned my mother’s smile. She has the best smile in the entire universe.

“Be careful, it is hot,” she warned me.

I purse my lips in concentration. I was a butter fingered person. I have always told my mom, even when I was only studying my sixth class, that there is magic in this world. The first time I told her, she asked me, “What makes you say that?”

Of course, she was smiling so I told her confidently, “See this table? There are two edges here, aren’t they?” I point the horizontal lines before me in the long table.

My mother’s smile vanished but I continued. “Whenever I keep my things here, this second edge disappears and my things break. But I have outwitted it now. The real edge is the one on the inside.”

I look at her triumphantly and she whispers back, holding her hand up, “How many fingers am I holding up, sweetie?”

I frown and say, “Seven. Why?”

I remember how my mom had hugged me tight. It was the first time I saw her crying. I don’t know why she cried but very soon I was taken to a hospital and the doctor poked around my eye.

He held his hand up too and asked, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“All of them,” I said.

“How many, dear?” he asked patiently.

“Seven.”

My mom sobbed again. Later I was given medicines regularly and the doctor kept flashing light in my eyes. It was so irritating. As I grew up, however, I recognized that this was no magic. There was something wrong with my eyes. One moment, something will be there and the next, it won’t be. It was so confusing.

I know why mom wanted me to be careful. She was scared I might pour the scalding coffee on myself. I walked carefully to my dad. He was lounging on the sofa, his feet propped up on the small table in front of him, watching TV.

“Appa, coffee,” I held the tumbler out.

Dad held his hand out absently, peeking around me at the cricket match. I frowned. He had two left hands. But which was the real one? I reach out wanting to touch to give him when I accidentally tip the tumbler.

My dad screamed as the scalding hot coffee ran down his chest and pooled on the sofa, staining it. He sits up, panting with pain. He glares at me in anger and I whisper, “Sorry, pa, I didn’t-”  

“You blind idiot!”

I flinch. I am blind? He stands up, angry from his core and I giggle for my eyes show him having a third eye in the middle. This was a first.