Mr.Eyeball

Poor Mr. Eyeball walked alone. Hair curled around him like a soft crown, but inside those hairs lived tiny lace-like parasites. They crept slowly, silently, eating him bit by bit. Yet he smiled. To him, they were friends — the only friends he had.

Every day he whispered to them: “One day you’ll become butterflies.” He dreamed of their wings, of colors and light. He didn’t see the truth that they lived only to consume him. Still, he called it love.

Blind to their hunger, he wandered on. Poor Mr. Eyeball had fallen in love with the wrong kind of beauty, again.