The Box Has Twelve Sides: Thirteen Curious Tales to Delight and Disturb

SENSE/LESS

I HAVE SOMETHING IN my eye, Shawn Cody says to himself.

He remembers back to the day before, to just as he is glancing up at the overhead lines on which he is working, a drop of fresh rain strikes him square in the eye. It's not like I've never gotten a raindrop in my eye. It probably happens more times than we realize, he thinks. Nothing to worry about.

But this morning, it is definitely bothering him.

Upon closer examination in the bathroom mirror he begins to think he's left his contact in his eye overnight. It sometimes happens when he's had too much to drink, or has taken his Ambien a little earlier than normal. While neither of these he remembers doing last night, it is still possible, even likely.

Pulling his right eyelid down, and reaching in with his left index finger, Shawn is able to pluck the contact lens from his eye with one fluid, practiced motion. The sting is the usual nuisance and temporarily makes him squeeze his eye shut.

Reaching into the top drawer of the bathroom cabinet, he removes the contact case and places it on the counter. Opening the twist off lid with the big "R" on top, he starts to place the lens he's taken from his eye... and stops.

His contact lens is already in the storage container.

So what's on the tip of my finger?

Squinting through the one eye which isn't watering, he examines what he's removed from his other eye.

It is a similar in thickness to his contact lens. That's why he doesn't examine it further after it is removed. But the similarity ends there. It is the same hazel-brown color as his own iris with the familiar radiating striations. The only thing not identical is a clear center where the pupil should be.

It's like he is balancing the skin of his eye on the tip of his finger.

What the–?

Quickly pooling some tap water in the plugged sink, Shawn gingerly places the foreign object into the temporary bath.

Looking back into the mirror, drawing the lid of his left eye down, he slides a similar membrane off the other eye. Steadying it on his fingertip, it looks indistinguishable to the other, now floating in the sink, looking up at him.

He places it in the water next to the other and looks back into his reflection in the mirror. The eyes staring back look just as normal as they ever have, even down to the tiny red veins at the corners.

Strange. He's never been able to see detail like that from this distance until he's put his contact lenses in for the day.

He looks back down at the discs floating in the water and has a thought. Grabbing his iPhone from the nightstand, he snaps a quick picture of the faux eyes ogling back at him from the basin. He stifles a chuckle at how ridiculous they look: a pair of cartoon irises daring him to blink.

Pushing the plunger down to let the water out, Shawn watches them quickly spiral past the stopper and into the drain, washing into the septic system.

Hope I won't need those, he thinks. And he laughs.

After popping in his contacts and going through the rest of his morning routine, Shawn is soon on the road to his job at the phone company.

The sun seems especially bright for this time of morning and he dons his sunglasses. But even with them on, everything still looks washed out, flat and out of focus.

Arriving at the AT&T office, Shawn immediately goes to the bathroom and removes his contacts for rewetting. Before he can replace them, he again sees that his eyesight seems to be perfect without contacts. He decides to try the day without them.