(Short Story) whereabouts of the left eye

[schoenheit]

return to directory


Source: spoon.2Di (issue 64)
Purchasable: Physical | eBook
Author: Bunta Tsushimi
Characters: Bradley, Mithra, Owen, Snow, White

Vicious were the moon's rays as they cut through the dark.

This moon, which hung so heavy and broad in size in the sky above, was known as the Great Calamity. Each year, when it came time for the moon to draw nearer to the ground below, all those on the surface turned their gaze to the sky, and all those looking up recalled again what it truly meant to feel so suffocated. For its bright, dazzling light swallowed the sky whole, and it always seemed that much closer to boring down on them all, crushing the world flat.

Owen was in especially high spirits as he flew through the air on his broom, bathed in that same moon's light. He'd been humming a jaunty tune as he went, and drifted slowly to a stop in the sky above the magical manor in Central Country. The manor was where the sage's wizards gathered for their battles with the Great Calamity, and Owen was one such wizard.

"Oh, my." The one who speaks up upon seeing Owen is Snow.

"Now, what-ever has happened to you?" The one who makes his inquiry to Owen is White. Though both were wizards of the North, only White was a ghost.

Owen had a very good idea of what the two were asking him about. Yet, he grew impatient waiting for them to ask and thus assumed an air of importance, tilting his chin and smiling broadly. With a pointedly casual gesture, he brought his fingers to rest upon his left eyelid.

"Hmmmm? What is it?"

"With your eye. Your left eye, specifically."

"It is most certainly a different color than it was last year, is it not?"

Owen shivered in delight, pleased beyond belief that the twins have finally asked. Though his eyes—his right eye red, and his left yellow—distort in joy, his response was, instead, particularly nonchalant. "Ahh, now that you mention it... You're right. They do happen to differ."

Though he couldn't explain why, the way he could treat the fresh golden eye in his socket—the eye that even the twins had noticed!—with such casual aloofness made him so ecstatic he thought he might faint.

It was an indescribable sensation. It was not unlike how a frenzied, large bear would feel: one that had lost its soul to its lust for honey, tearing its teeth into a honeycomb it had ripped right from the hive with its claws, honey dripping sticky from its nose and smearing its face, just as it'd so desperately desired.

Hey, hey, look— Hey, hey, ask me— ask me more and more and more. But Owen didn't say this aloud. He didn't understand his own desires, and he understood the desires of others even less.

And so, the twins did not act in accordance with Owen's wish, their reply only serving to disappoint.

"My, what an utter shame. It's far better to have a matching pair."

"Indeed it is. There's nothing better in this world than matching."

Their complaints about the differing colors of his eyes awakened a murderous desire in Owen. He wanted to erase the twins from this world; wanted to make it so that he never heard them say such awful, awful things. But just as he produced his magical focus, a trunk, and just as he was about to unlock its lid, someone grabbed his head from behind.

"Huh. It's true."

Mithra had come up from right behind him to peer into Owen's face. This was the second strongest wizard in the world; another wizard from the North. Within his sultry, green eyes stirred the mysterious charm of a captivating devil.

Owen lost his temper as Mithra tried touching his left eye, kicking at Mithra's broom with his heel.

"Stop it. Don't touch it."

"Does that eye usually change color...? Hmmm..."

"Excuse me? Just what are you going on about?"

"Are you sure this the first time it's changed color?"

Those words of indifference ruined the spark of this lovely thing he'd thought of as special. Owen shook off Mithra's hand and jumped down from his broom, landing on the roof, eyebrows furrowed in his foul mood. But, as he did, he heard a low laugh resound. He turned his head to find Bradley sitting on the edge of the roof—a wizard kept imprisoned here, in Central country.

"I'd heard all the rumors, but who'd have thought they'd be about you. Hah."

"Rumors?"

"You attacked the kid leader of the Central country's knights, yeah? And— Hey! Turns out he was a wizard, too!" He laughed. "Man, oh, man, the reputation of the whole Order sure went down the drain!"

The corners of Owen's lips curved up in a smile.

"Hmph. It's not as if I care," Owen said before taking a seat beside Bradley and crossing his legs, paying no mind to how sitting so close startled Bradley.

"Well?" Owen leaned in, even closer. "You can tell me more, you know."

"About what? There's nothin' left to tell."

"What happened to the little head of the knights?"

"Kid's not head knightling anymore. They don't let wizards be knights in Central."

"Excuse me?"

"Heard all about it in the slammer, and, damn, did it feel great. I even made up a song about it to scare my human jailer:

♫ The head of the knights is a wizard ♫
♫ And, guess what? The jailer is, too ♫
♫ The doorman casts spells using gizzards ♫
♫ And the chef cooks with an 'Abra-cadabra-boo!' ♫
♫ On every side all around you there's wizards ♫
♫ And, guess what? Maybe you're one, too! ♫"

As Bradley's voice resounded with his curious melody, Mithra and the twins took this opportunity to land on the roof in time with one another, for wizards love song and dance.

"Pardon me, but what song is that?" asked Mithra.

"It's a song made by yours truly. Wanna hear it again?"

"Won't you listen to our song, as well? For, not so long ago, the two of us crafted a song of our very own."

"It’s a song about our most beloved pupils. We're thinking of making them join us by way of musical accompaniment next time we meet."

"Quiet, all of you. None of that matters," Owen interjected. "Hey, what happened to the head of the knights who's no longer head of the knights? What is he now?"

"Dunno, didn't care to ask. He's probably kickin' around as a janitor or somethin'."

Owen fell silent.

All the other wizards chattered on in cheerful conversation, none noticing that Owen's lips remained parted. All his excitement; his joy; his ecstasy—everything he'd felt until just a few moments ago—all of it was gone. He felt as hopeless as a worm, one that had shriveled up into a husk and died trying to get from one patch of moist soil to another.

Even the shining moon felt hollow. And all of a sudden, all the love he had for the things he should still hold dear began to fall away, their shine lost. A needling sense of irritation porcupined beneath his left eyelid. Just as he was about to jam his finger into that eye, Snow laughed.

"But, my! You stole the eye of a sapling wizard, yes? I sense how brightly it brims with youthful vim and vigor."

At that moment, Owen remembered.

He remembered the figure of that youthful knight, protecting his friends with his sword in his hand. A stranger to fear, gallant and brave— a young man overflowing with such boyish vivace. A voice sharper than even his blade; a blade cutting sharply even through wind. The powerful, honey glow of his eyes; how it overflowed in Owen’s field of vision more than even the light of the grand moon that flooded the sky...

That man could in no way be a janitor.

Owen's lips curled up into a smile. Even if he were to cast aside his sword, even if he were to dismount his horse, was that man not still a knight? And should he ever forget this, then perhaps Owen would call him a knight so that he might always remember: Sir Knight, Sir Knight.

"Ahh, how fun it was to tease such an exemplary knight," Owen boasted with shameless pride.

White smiled bright, his smile a perfect mirror of Snow's own, and laughed. "What a villainous wizard you are. Don't go scaring the new sage's wizards, now— It's almost time for their arrival."

"New wizards?" Owen asked.

"They replaced the late Central wizards. We spoke of it earlier, did we not?"

"Hmph. Doesn't matter to me." Owen stretched out his arms, fingertips to the moon. He stepped in time with the jaunty hum playing on his lips, his shadow stretched long along the earth as he danced across the rooftop. Overwhelmed by emotion as he was while admiring the dazzling moon, he let a sonorous, loud laugh bubble up and burst out from within him.

"... The hell's up with this guy..." remarked Bradley, disturbed.

"He always seems to be having fun," remarked Mithra, impressed.

The twins nestled close to one another as they watched, enjoying the cool, night air.

It felt as if it were all a portent that something wonderful would happen. Little by little, things were changing. Little by little, things were returning to his hands: That special sensation. That act of desire. That pleasure so thrilling he might just faint. None of it, none of it was a mistake.

At that moment, it felt as if the Great Calamity might destroy the world.

Hey, hey, look. Hey, hey, ask me a little more. Hey, hey, hey, look, even if I don't understand. Hey, hey, hey, hey!

return to top

Thank you so, so much to haranami_ @ Twitter for proofreading!!