THE EYEMAN

Foaming unwrapped Jose’s package to reveal a large Waring blender. He next removed the olive drab poncho from around Marco’s 32-ounce container. At first he was startled by all the eyeballs suspended in their liquid environment. He knew what to expect but, he had to admit, the first look had definite shock value. He studied an eyeball and noticed it was identical to the others as a surgical specimen. The lens had clouded up as expected both because of whatever preservative was used and also from postmortem change. The small tentacle-like eye muscles above and below each globe were all the same length, probably a tribute to the sharpness of the cutting instrument. This eye, like the others, had a quarter-inch section of optic nerve remaining at the back, making it almost look like an eyeball Christmas tree ornament, he imagined. Enough of this, I’m starting to think like a fucking pathologist. Foaming plugged in the Waring blender and opened the eyeball bottle. There was a clean isopropyl alcohol odor to the preserved eyes and fluid. He emptied the container into the blender. He turned the machine on for a full 2-minutes until the contents were a smooth, gray, amorphous consistency. Foaming opened the door to his office.

“Figueroa.” Foaming stepped on the doorway entrance and stuck his head outside.

“Jess, sir.” Figueroa was almost jolted from his seat with the shout.

“Empty the blender into the toilet and keep flushing until the toilet is clear again. Is that understood?” It was an unusual direct order but an order nevertheless.

“Jess, sir.” He took the now much heavier blender into the room marked Head, Jose Figueroa flushed the gray chemical-smelling homogenized soup down the toilet. He wondered what it once was, but the thought left his nerve synapses as fast as it had been produced. He would take the blender apart and clean it as thoroughly as he could before returning it to the Officers Mess Hall in time for its use in preparing breakfast.