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#1

Oh god. Oh god oh shit oh fuck he couldn’t see from this eye he’s screaming and he could hear more screaming and what the fuck is going on he-

Vasily moved his hand up and

His eye

Was wet

And he wasn’t crying.

There’s a knife stuck in his eye. There’s a fucking knife stuck in his fucking eye and he couldn’t see from it and he brought his hand down and his other eye saw blood and something else on it and it occurred to him that it’s his eye fluid. He could feel his father’s firm grip on the oyster knife, yanking it out as his mother gently held him. It came out with a literal squelch and more eye fluid gushed out and there was more screaming and his mother’s tears were wetting his shirt, coloring the black fabric even darker and a drop of something landed on his stomach, moist and seeping into his skin from the cloth and he hopes that it’s just tears or blood and not something else. The smell of the seafood on the dinner table, long forgotten, turned distractingly nausiating. His mother hugged him even tighter, her blond curls prickly against his cheek, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, but wasn’t sure if it’s because of her tight hold on him or because he was so, so scared and so, so shocked and it was such a stupid cliche but he felt his whole life flashing in front of his eyes.

(Eye, singular, he vaguely noted in the dark recess on his mind.)

-----

"Nine-one-one operator. What is your emergency?"

*A woman, approximately middle-aged, appearing to be close to tears answers.*

“My son- He just stabbed himself in the eye, it was an accident I swear, please, we need help. It looks… oh god, it’s pretty deep, he’s, uh, he’s 12- no, just turned13 imafraidhewouldlosehiseyepleasesendhelp.”

“Where is your location?”

“We’re at 786, ̢̥̬͙̓͊̈̀͛͢ ̦̀ ͍̀ ̜͎̆́ ̙̇ ͌ͅ ̧͈̖̓͒͠ ͓͐̃͜ ̜̔ ͙̮̯̀̒́ ̙̟̏̋ ͔͂ ̳̑ ̡̥̇͑̑͟ ͇̎ ̝̳̌́̽ͅ ̦̑ ͈̓ ̹̗̈́̾̚ͅ ̣͞ ̡͖̃͝ ̱̞̑̃͢͡ ͈̹̝̉͐̾ ͔̳́́ ͚̌ ̰̰̗̆͝͠ ͓͒̈͜ ̺̻̂̍ ̛̞̜̦̣̟̪͂͂̉̚͘ ̻̟͖͋̔͋ ̪̈ ̝̠̏̔ please please please send help immediately, oh baby don’t cry, c’mon Vas, I promise you’ll be alright.”

“Don’t worry, we are sending the paramedics your way. What is the phone number you are calling from?”

“ ̲̉ ̲͓̪̒͐̀ ̪͎̼̇̈́͛ ̞̂ ͚̫̾̿ ̙͇̟̉̒͡ ͇̖͖̔͑͞ ̲̮̹̏͆́ ̢̬͕͑̋̈́ ̗͉̀̔ ͖͔̾̿ ̪͞ ̮̜͐̐''

“Is he consci-”

“Fyodor, honey, you know more about this than I do, can you please please please handle this for me?”

*At this point, an older man picks up the phone.*

“He’s- He’s conscious and breathing. There is some blood, I don’t think the knife has reached the brain but I’m not sure.”

*A loud whimper, belonging to what seems like a teenage boy, is audible, followed by indecipherable speech.*

“Can you please describe your residence?”

“We live in a two story house, It is painted brown with a white roof, we have a black Lexus parked out on the driveway, please be quick.”

“And can you please give us your names?”

“Maja and Fyodor, my son’s name is Vasily, spelled V-A-S-I-L-Y, our last name is Ivanov, spelled I-V-A-N-O-V.”

“Allright, I’ve sent the paramedics. Help is on the way, Stay on the line and I’ll tell you exactly what to do next.”

-----

He woke up tangled in newly-made bedsheets, curled up like a fetus in the womb, idle beeping worming in his right ear and fabric bound over his eye and stitches in his eyelids to keep it closed. Except, and his dumbass should have realized this, it wasn’t his eye, it was the silicone conformer. Considering, you know, that the surgeons took it out. He remembered right before falling asleep that he wanted to have them keep it.

Guess this is going to be his new life, huh?

-----
The surgeons did, in fact, bring the eye to him. It was ugly and malformed, red blood vessels all over the place and the pupil was bent in a U-shape. A few stitch marks here, some grayish-patches there, and it had specks of blood and smelled horrible. But it was his eye, and for thirteen years he saw out of it, he blinked over it, and it was his and that’s what matters. He’s got the shape of them from his father and their color from his mother, and the absolutely shitty vision from some loser of a grandma from the paternal side of his family.

“Ewww it’s so gross!” He stuck his tongue out, feigning disgust. It would only be years later before he recognized it as what it really was: Metal as fuck.

“It’s your eye, Vasily.”

“And It’s still gross, dad.”

It would only be weeks later before he realized how grateful he should be, with his father next to him.

-----

There was a call from another hospital. His mother was crying.

-----

He was crying, too, at the funeral, tears flowing from the only remaining tear duct on his face. The flowers on his father’s tombstone were wet.

-----

Despite how much he’s talked about it, he doesn’t remember this period of his life very well. Please forgive him, he tried his best.

(No I fuckin’ didn’t.)

-----

With steady hands, the doctor injected the liquid into his socket, the impression tray holding his eyelids open. There really wasn’t a need for him to blink, anyways. It was weird and uncomfortable, having this cold, sticky liquid plaster-thing injected into the gaping hole where his eye should have been, and it only went away after it hardened again. God, it was still so wild, the fact that someone is making a cast of his eye socket. This is like a movie or something. Everything went by so fast, he’s… no, he doesn’t want to think about it.

It just really fucking hurt, man.

Fingernails covered in clear paint gripped onto the leather seat as the plaster dried in his eyes. He needed something to get over it.

-----

Vasily took a swig of the unfinished bottle of vodka still in the cabinet. It is- no, was his father’s favorite brand. Mother had gone through quite a few bottles these days, face flushed and eyes hazy. Goddamnit, out of all the things to inherit from them.

-----

It wasn’t the best way to cope, but you know what? He’s going to take it in stride. He’s going to be a new person in the same grade. He’s going to be better than before, he’s not going to let everything get to him, because he’s grown and learned and he is better than that. Fuck the haters, he’s changed. New eye, new hair, new clothes, new friends. A pair of dinky new earrings. It all happened so fast. He walked in the class, put his backpack down, and hoped that dad would be proud of him.

-----

Mom said she was “concerned about his behavior” and that he was being “too wild” and he’s so fucking tired of it, man, he’s a teenager! Let him have fun! What’s wrong with a little underaged drinking anyways, it’s not like he’s doing crack cocaine or anything.

-----

The school said his O-ring eyepatch was “too provocative.” He said that his school was “Being a bunch of funless idiots.”

-----

So, like, here he was, sweet-16 year old e-boy extraordinaire, wearing his brand-spankin’ new goth thigh highs from Amazon for another stupid video where he crossdresses as a joke and then realizes that it’s a lot more than a stupid joke to him, scrolling through the comments for a Q&A and going on a blocking spree when he came across the, like, that question. You know, the only logical question there is when you’re wearing an eyepatch and are also a huge weeb on the internet.

“Is your eye actually missing?”

Followed by, and god he’s going to have so much fun with this one,

“Because if it isn’t you shouldn’t be appropriating disabilities. There are actual people missing their eyes and you shouldn’t make it into just an aesthetic.”

Fucking hilarious, right?

...

Yeah, thought so.

So here he was, immediately clicking to his camera app and listening to the clink of his nails against glass, barely containing his laughter. It’s the usual schtick: Room? Locked. Thigh highs? On. Eyeliner? Sharp enough to kill a man. His back? Facing the “weapons wall.” Hotel, trivago, blah blah blah. Let’s go.

He placed his camera against the stand, then pressed click.

“So… I’ve heard a lot of you are curious about my eyepatch! Including-” He pointed up to edit the comment later- “Saying that I’m culturally appropriating. Well, the truth is-” He yanked his eyepatch off, showing the prosthesis. “I don’t give a shit.”

He let the camera linger a bit, blinking, hoping that the fake eye passed off as a real one.

And then he reached his fingers in his socket and pulled it out.

They want him to answer? Sure, he’ll answer.

“I mean, like, even if someone can totally see with both of their intact eyes I still don’t give a shit. Go wild! Have fun! Seeing people wear eyepatches for the aesthetic makes me feel sexy as all hell!” And you know what? It does. It really does. IS he a little jealous that they didn’t have to literally get their eye cut out? Yes, a little bit, but there’s nothing better than someone using your identity and style to look good. There’s that one anime that he watched, where the villain was like “imitation is the greatest form of flattery” and that’s honestly 100% right for him.

“Honestly, My life is fine without an eye anyways, you guys don’t have to worry for me, ya know. I’ve got a career in irl skullfuck hentai paved already. You wish you were me.” And to emphasize the point, he stuck the tip of his pinky in his eye socket, idly fingering it before wincing. As much as he’s messed around with his eye socket, it doesn’t, like, feel good, you know? He’s kidding about the skullfuck. Unless it pays well, but he’s made that joke to his doctor before and the look of concern he got meant that it’s probably a really bad idea. He's been told multiple times to not touch the socket itself, but... Fuck it, you know? His eye, his rights and all that.

“Anyways,” he continued, popping the eye back in, “I’ll see you in brazzers soon!” He couldn’t help it, OK? He was just near collapsing at his shitty joke before pressing the recording button again, turning the phone off and going full-on hyena mode on his bed.

Yeah, what a life.