Eyes On Me

At first it seemed there was no one here.

I’d been walking for miles, hundreds of miles, through countryside and country towns, and I was tired.

It had been about a day since the last grocery, walking — save for the occasional park stop or squat by the river — nonstop up to now.

So exhausted. But I liked how empty this town was.

Seemed.

Nothing but wilderness for a day’s stretch, and then this. This small, empty town with no town center, no stores, no church.

Just a couple of white-paneled houses, sturdy but unkept, dusty screens behind unwashed windows.

And an eerie little girl with a ghostly face, staring at me.

The town had seemed empty. Up to now.

I remember seeing the sign.

Blankton: 20 miles

I was happy to see it.

About the prospect of a store, of some food, maybe a place to rest for the night.

But those cars broken down by the roadside, just outside of town.

No one in them. Creeped me out a little. I had thought they were abandoned.

I kept walking, looked back up at the house.

Still staring. Two of them now.

A little boy had joined. Same white clothes.

Same deathly stare.

Same black eyes.

They unnerved me.

And then a shotgun blast. I blacked out. Woke up.

They got my knees.

And everything below them.

Those kids had the blackest eyes I’d ever seen.

And they could eat.