THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT


EGO

by by Mary-Evelyn Farrior

I.

He had these smudgy blue eyes that startled me. I always thought they would be dark brown, but up close they were this muted shade of blue, with a layer of death glazed over them. Like an old cocker spaniel with cataracts. I could not bear to look at him without chills running through me. And even when I did match his eyes, they seemed to be looking at something beyond myself.

II.

He had these piercing blue eyes. I imagine the ice water near the South Pole would produce a similar feel as did his gaze. They silently attempted to control any conversation. I frequently diverted my eyes away from his in order to preserve some shred of personal power.

III.

He had these sad blue eyes that wanted to be something. The constant yearning for something unattainable could be sensed from the simplest glance. I watched them try so hard to find comradeship in others, and he may have believed he found it in some of these contacts, but it all seemed so contrived to me.

IV.

He had these childish blue eyes. They provided him with a constant life force, yet all I felt in them was hollowness. An overwhelming feeling of complete solitude that comes only from realizing that all that can be known is yourself. A dark, glorious mirror of another revealing only your extreme isolation.

V.

He had these sunken blue eyes. Deep caves of orbitals with tiny blue beads for eyes. They were always making up for this physical imperfection through imperialism, pleased at the submission of others. The irises were the lightest shade of blue, leading one to believe he would be kind; however, I only found a devastating breed of hubris when our eyes met.

VI.

He had these darkened blue eyes. They were once pale and gentle but have bittered with time. He constantly strove to prove himself, and rather bullishly at that. I did all I could to get out of his way. I do not know what happened to him, maybe enough disappointment finally caught up with him. Selfish to take it out on others.

VII.

He had these tired blue eyes. Droopy little things that looked like they would burst into tears at the slightest touch. I kept to light subject matter whenever I talked with him for fear he would start crying if something more serious was discussed. Nothing is worse than crying in public. Everyone is too uncomfortable to handle it appropriately.

VIII.

He had these solemn blue eyes. Steadfast like the top of a pendulum around which all else rotates. I always tried my hardest to win an approving glance. That is how people take over the world. They merit respect, and then they advance in power. At least that is my belief.

IX.

He had these plain blue eyes that reminded me of a dulled knife. They made me wonder what it would be like to be him. Maybe he does think constantly and questions life. Or maybe he just does as he should, and he will be a good worker one day. I would feel better if I knew that someone else thought about the same things that I do.