Bird Eyes || Tomtord

Someone

There is no way to know exactly when something happens. One may think that their microwave will be done in thirty seconds, so says the digital screen, but there's a possibility that the power will go out and your meal will have to be eaten cold. It's always disappointing when things don't go as planned, but that's what keeps life interesting.

Tom was thinking. He was pondering what to do. How would he do it? Dozens upon dozens of unanswered questions buzzed around in his mind like bees, occasionally stinging him with a dead-end of a plan, or facts that contradict each other. As his thoughts drowned into a fuzzy nothingness, he sighed. He was getting nowhere just sitting there.

He got up from the chair and pushed it gently back against the desk that proudly displayed a single boring piece of lined paper with nothing legible in it. What were once words a moment ago were now all bunchy scribbles. An abused black pen lay beside the sheet, scattered with bite marks.

He made his way over to the kitchen where Matt was, sitting on the counter, swinging his feet, eating some toast. The ginger waved and Tom returned the gesture. They both knew that they didn't need words to acknowledge the other's presence. Tom grabbed a glass from the cupboards and filled it with some water, then threw it down his esophagus. The cool feeling around his dry throat soothed him.

"I'm going out," Tom announced, before swinging open the creaking door. He glanced at the meaningless numbers on the doors as he walked past them towards the staircase. His feet hit the sidewalk noiselessly.

It was slushy outside, with spring coming in. There wasn't a lot of snow still out, but there were patches. The air was getting steadily thicker with humidity. Tom turned his head to the sound of the bells, telling him that it was noon, then looked back at the ground, quickening his pace.

A car honked at him when he didn't stop for it, even though he was doing nothing wrong. Pedestrians have the right of way. Some people are simply ignorant and selfish, just wanting things to go by faster.

Why must humanity want things fast? There are races, for humans and horses, and whomever is fastest wins. Why can't we take time to appreciate things? Most often we are so caught up with getting things done quickly that we don't realize what really matters until time takes it away. They say time heals, but does it? Which is greater in the ratio between time healing and hurting?

Tom slowed. He looked out at the blinding sun over the grey city, then towards the people around him. Was time being kind to them?

He furiously shook his head and continued on his way. Those people didn't matter to him. He didn't care about how their day was going. He didn't care about the football game that they had seen last week. He didn't care if their child had a cavity. He didn't care about them and they didn't care about him. The feelings were mutual.

Of course, he could fake sadness if he saw that they were looking for sympathy. He wasn't that much of an asshole. Their emotions just didn't matter to him. To someone else, they did. Everyone has someone, even if they haven't met said person yet.

Tom's someone is dead.

He came across what he was looking for. A new looking house with beautiful brick walls and windows laced with a prominent black. The sign on a bulletin board at a store didn't lie. "Baby lizards. Must get rid of them all ASAP."

Before he could knock, he heard a quick, "Psst!" Turning his head, he stared at a young boy, peeking his head around a corner. The kid waved him over. Tom thought that this all was getting super shady but went none-the-less.

"You want a lizard, right?" The kid asked. The blue clad male nodded as he was taken around to the backyard. There was a small playground, and he was taken underneath the slide. The young boy pulled out a shoebox. When he pulled off the lid, Tom could see a pink blanket with a bunch of tiny reptiles in it. The creatures squirmed in the light. They were so small. By an estimate, he could see about ten little beings.

"When were they born?" Tom asked the most important question.

"They hatched about a week ago. I don't know exactly when they were laid," the boy responded.

"And what kind are they?" he asked, how trying to create small talk to be nice.

"Sand lizards."

"How'd you get them?"

"My parents got me a sand lizard for my birthday. She got out once, then we found her. I knew that she got pregnant, but my parents would have killed the babies so I kept it a secret. Don't tell them, please," the boy responded.

"I won't," he reassured. "How much are you charging?"

"Nothing. How many do you want?"

"All of them."

The boy paused. "Really?"

Tom nodded. If he hadn't gotten all of them, the one he didn't get might have been Tord. He could not live with that fact. "Yes, I'll take all of them."

The boy nodded quickly and handed him the box. He cradled it like a child, which it kind of was. About ten tiny children, one of which might be Tord.