The New Flesh

“It was his fault,” Kevin said to his dad.

“You shot the BB gun. There’s a good chance he’ll lose the eye.”

“Not my problem. He was stupid. He jumped in front of me,” said Kevin.

Kevin sat on the front porch. His head hung low. His forehead dripped sweat onto the old wooden steps. He would not be made to feel bad for that idiot getting his head in the way of target practice. That night, his father gave him a tanning that left his backside streaked shades of pink. Kevin’s face was a red storm of anger, but he would not be broken. He didn’t cry and refused to apologize to Jake.

Jake had four separate surgeries. The doctors tried everything to save the eye.

Kevin would not say a word to Jake, but when no one was looking he’d steal a peek. His eye drooped and oozed clear thick snot; it made Kevin sick. He wanted to tell Jake to at least wear a patch or bandage on the vile thing.

The following summer, Kevin saw a moving van across the street at Jake’s house. He felt grateful he no longer had to look at that disgusting dripping eye.

Before the van pulled away, Jake knocked on Kevin’s door. Kevin sat silent in the living room.

“I may be half-blind, but I know you’re in there,” Jake screamed.

“One day...”

Kevin sat frozen in the ratty armchair.

* * *

Fifteen years later, Kevin’s son was born.

* * *

Kevin gasped; his face blanched when he saw the empty socket.

"The Eye"

Copyright: © 2009 Amy Corbin
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Amy Corbin has been published in filling Station, The Cynic, Ascent Aspirations, Shine, Every Day Poets, Every Day Fiction, Haruah: A Breath of Heaven, Ignavia Press, Flask and Pen,The Battered Suitcase, Flashes in the Dark, Short Story Library, Smokebox, Writers' Stories, Wanderings, and Boston Literary Magazine. She likes to drink strong coffee and sing in her car.