Skull whores🍼👁

The man

Everywhere I look, he's always been there. Staring me down like a doll, his eyes glued to mine like a sticky pastry. I'd like to think he likes me, after all he has been there through it all. The divorce, the remarriage, the miscarriage, all of it.

The earliest memory I have of him is when I was four years old, the years you usually forget. I was sitting on a bench with memaw and Papa Shots with a cold delicious and extremely sticky Ice pop. The sun was bleeding through the trees and covering me up like a fluffy blanket, and I felt an emotion that I never felt before or after. Maybe I was happy at the time, but that usually never lasts long like it did back then. I remember memaw laughed and wiped my mouth. You'll catch chills if you keep eating quickly, she would say to me. Papa Shots would hoarsely laugh before coughing up his twenty-three years of smoking. I'd laugh too, politely and quietly so that nobody else would hear me except the two people I loved most. That's when I saw him, the man I wish now to forget completely, staring at me from across the yard. He was an average man, nothing peculiar about him except that his eyes were exceptionally large, black sockets. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have mistaken him for any average business man. Except he isn't, and who goes to work at 4 pm on a Saturday? Maybe tons of people, however it's always seemed strange to me how people are willing to put their own free time aside for money. I remember feeling a strange sense of comfort when the man looked over me, as if he was meant to be there as my guardian angel or something. But now that I've thought thoroughly about it, I never can recall him being a guardian nor an angel in my presence. He merely stares into my life as if he was watching a movie, and the plot is beginning to thicken.