Eyes (A Short Story)

She was standing at the end of the room. Beside her was a vase of flowers that looked so nice. They were so big in petals but I didn’t know their name. I have always found those flowers in her room. It was like they were never changed; they had never withered. There were only those big red, white, and orange flowers, but only the red stood out. I couldn’t help but notice that the flowers matched her eyes. I don’t know how they go with her eyes, they just do. As if her eyes were the buds, as if she was once part of these flowers that their name I didn’t know. It felt like the two belonged to each other and she was separated from their physical embodiment to lead another life in another physical embodiment that can speak silently and loudly just through the eyes. It was her eyes that said and talked, her eyes that danced and sang, her eyes that looked so magical even when red and infuriated. It was all in her eyes.

Every time I went into her room, I saw something new. It had to be in red, orange, as the sun is, or brown. It was not that something new was brought into the room, but only the way the furniture, the ornaments and how they were set looked. The lighting always changed by the way she set her candles; the way her candles were set in different corners every time; she fixed them in angles. There was something supernatural about her that she reflected in everything she did, even in the way she set the candles. There was something that would always keep you wondering whether that solidarity she enclosed herself in was because she was too pure to interact with the world outside or because she was too demonic that she would never stop thinking about her next victim. The way the light affected her eyes was like keeping the steel in fire for a day or two. Her eye color changed with the florescent. I couldn’t remember their color without red or orange shades. They always looked graceful along being creepy. It was not like everyone gets their eye color changed with the florescent. Everyone lit candles but her candles were not like any other, they were as unique and mystical as she was.

This time there was something different. There was something added to the room, something was brought in. She had a shawl that I have never seen before. She had a red shawl, a red, chiffon shawl with red roses weaved on it. She was standing in front of the candles, three candles. She held the shawl to her back as if she was to cover her shoulders with it. The candles’ light gave the effect that her shawl was on fire, she looked like she was set on fire. It looked like a sun was rising from behind that shawl, burning whoever needed not to live. The roses, as perfectly as they were woven with profession and love, were so paradoxically burning gracefully. It took me sometime to understand that it was the lights of the candles, three candles set in a perfect posture. Two were at the same level while the last one was higher than the others. Two candles marking her body, as if they were marking where she was standing. The third one was precisely aligned with the corner of the shawl. Their light with the red fabric of her shawl rose in me contradicting feelings. It was all about those colors, those colors melting in each other and as bright and as lively and as vivid as they were, they were the only thing that was alive. There was no source of life in this brown room.

Not only was the red on her shawl burning, but also her face had this glow on it. It wasn’t glowing itself, it was only the candles; those brightly burning, big, short candles. The candles gave her face this light that looked like the light of an angel descending with grace from the sky as much as it was like hell’s doors opened all together. She was undefinable, everything about her was incomprehensible.  Her body gesture too, the way she stood looking at me standing at the door. She was perfect in all means, in all that incomprehensibility, she was contradictively perfect. The way she looked at me was as if she was telling me to come in, she was inviting me in with a smile that one couldn’t tell if it is of good or bad intentions. You couldn’t tell if her eyes were saying “come in because I never turn anyone who comes to me down”, “come in because I want to hear what you have to say”, or “come in to let me suck the goodness in you”, “come in so that I can manipulate your mind as I pray for the one I serve”. She had that look in her eyes that showed innocence along with monstrosity and demonism. I couldn’t resist her eyes; looking in her eyes was like being bewitched. I was compelled into going inside, going to her not knowing if I was ever to get out. I didn’t know if I would have a good or a bad ending, I had to go in with my will set aside. I went into the room for the first time; I have never been in it before. I had always sneaked to see what was in it and what she was doing. I had always passed by the room and she was always there with the door opened. She was always on her knees but only this time that she was standing, she was standing and looking at me by the door. She was standing by the candles that she fixed with angles. I could hear her voice calling me in my head by the words her eyes whispered. I went in, not thinking about what the consequences would be. I just knew that I was walking myself towards my eternal happiness or my soon to be painfully regretted doom. I was in and the door was locked. I locked the door while we were both alone together. For the first time, in the so many years I have passed by her unlocked door room, I was in and the door was locked.