Red hair, green eyes

 

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Red hair and green eyed, pale skinned, she stood in the garden in the rain. She looked out over the countryside and remembered her old family farm.

Sadness overwhelmed her as she thought of her mother and father. It was ten years ago since they had died and she wished they were still here. She wanted to be able to pick up the phone and talk to them. She’d always called on Sunday nights. Then one day her father was ill, and in hospital, he passed away that night . Later in the same week her mother died of a heart attack, they said she had a broken heart.

All this was long ago, but the longing to be with them never ended. Her sister had stayed on the farm and inherited it. The problem was they didn’t get on anymore. She couldn’t face going home to the farm. She thought of her red hair, her green eyes, but she had no fire in her mind, no jealousy in her thoughts. The outside did not signify how she felt. She went in and closed the back door.

Hay-fever eyes

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Argh! Pollen count is really high today, I’ve taken a Hay-fever tablet and my nose is mildly itchy, but my eyes! I’m rubbing them so hard that it hurts. I need to get some eyedrops but it’s too high a pollen level to want to go out. So I’m waiting till later till the tablet takes effect.

I started getting Hay-fever at a young age when I would wake up with what I called “sleep” in my eyes, all gunged up. Then when I was a teenager about to do my exams it got worse. The sneezing and coughing. Walking about unable to see because of my blurry eyes.

I think I’m growing out of it a bit, but it might just be because we don’t have any grass nearby. My garden is full of trees and flowers which I’m OK with. It’s grass, and particularly Timothy grass that effects me. Timothy grass is used by local councils for grass verges so it can be ubiquitous.

Anyway my tablet is kicking in. So I’m off out. Bye

 

Cat statue

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What’s going on? My cat turns to stone when he sits in the bathroom. He stares out of the window. I think he sees the movement of the birds feeding out of the frosted glass.

He is fascinated by the sound of them landing on the bathroom roof. They sound like they are tap dancing across the roof.

If I wanted another stationary photo of him I would have to take photos on the bathroom. That is where he is at his quietest unless he is sleeping but then you don’t see his beautiful eyes.

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The eyes have it

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Put a picture of an eye or eyes up on a wall or building and crime drops. People are apparently influenced by an image of an eye. Perhaps that is why the story the handmaid’s tale uses the phrase “under his eye” as part of its narrative.

Eyes are all seeing, interrogative, piercing, but also are described as honest, kind, thoughtful, gentle.

Eyes are the windows of the soul. The look of longing, watching, friendship. Caring eyes. Intelligent eyes. So many descriptions. Your eyes weep, cry, shed tears.

Eyes linger on a sunset, watch the television, look back in anger. Using your eyes to see. Recognise your friends and family……

Dont let your eyes darken, grow clouded, become opaque with cataracts. Blink away tears.

Glance at the sky, watch a bird in flight, look at your watch, wear mascara. Stare at the world. Close your eyes, and, sleep.

Looking

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I used to spend a lot more time on digital drawings. This one got printed on a mug just for fun. It’s based on cats eyes. I decided to duplicate it in the layout app I have after initially drawing it in ArtRage oils. I don’t quite remember how I managed to draw the details, probably using my computer tablet not my mobile phone which I tend to use now.

I’m gradually collecting these images off my¬† computer as they pop up on my previous memories page on Facebook. Every day something different, that I forgot about, is there, and I ponder what thoughts were going through my mind all those years ago.

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Eye don’t know…

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Something appeared on the cliffs above the village that night, but no one saw it till much later.

The wedding had gone well and the happy couple were now on their way to catch a plane to their honeymoon destination. The rest of the party were sleeping the evening off either in the hotels 6 guest rooms, or in the two bed and breakfasts in the old harbour.

Half of the village had been invited and were now dreaming of the festivities while the other half were either too young or too elderly to have gone.

A dark figure, about eight foot wide, was shambling along the path down from the cliff. It’s movements were jerky, like an accordion being played, several legs moved in a strange caterpillar like rhythm and gleaming eyes looked out in long rows along its sides.

Most peculiar of all was its gaping mouth. This was filled not with teeth, but with arm like protruberances which ended in long thin suckes. Each of about twenty arms could reach out of its mouth to either lift or pull objects. They were also able to grasp things and pull them inside the thing.

A feral cat was stalking a mouse as the strange being came round a corner of the pathway. The alien seized the cat with one of its suckers and pulled it into its mouth which snapped with an audible crunch as it closed.

As the light came again to the village open doors greeted the dawn. Most were torn from their hinges. Others wear ripped apart as if a chain saw had cut through them.

Of the villagers there was no sign, the guests who had come down from towns and cities were gone. There were strange gouged marks on the roadway leading to the harbour wall, but no sign of life. Even the sea birds had gone.

Only the lighthouse keeper further up the valley had seen something glowing and gleaming in the dark, but he was saying nothing.

(I seem to be writing more of these, I’m trying to work out how to describe things. To make up a story that is slightly different, not too derivative?) all writing and art copyright Christine Mallaband-Brown 2019.