Blue Eyes

He sat in the black leather chair, indents of time, and worn-out arms held his. His face was similar to the cracks in the leather, diminished by age and whiskey. He had led a hard life, been alone for much of it. But, today, he was not alone. Today he was surrounded by thoughts. Thoughts he couldn't escape. He squinted to forget, wrinkling his face further. Tears edged out of the corners of his blue eyes. The old man's sad yet enticing eyes. He'd been married once, and those eyes were the inception. Those eyes looked around the room full of books and not much else. Those eyes came to the table, where a revolver lay. He held his eyes on the revolver, those blue eyes dull against the harsh metal. Next to the revolver a picture, himself, a younger man, and a woman with a baby. The couple seemed untroubled. He clutched the picture—a knock at the door. Totally enraptured into the picture, he didn't hear. The knock comes again. This time he answered, "Come in." A man tall and slender, dressed all in black, slinked into the room. The slender man spoke eloquently, in not quite a holy way, "I understand you have something for me?" The man again enraptured in the picture. The slender man impatiently, "Do you have something for me or not?" The old man muttered, "Have I not called you to me?" The old man stood from his leather encasing, his imprint still lingering, and walked over to a bookshelf. From the shelf, he plucked a little black notebook. Opening the notebook, the old man thumbed through till he found the page he was looking for. "Here, on this page, it spells everything out," handing the notebook to the slender man. The slender man's eyes breeze through the words and then stop. Squinting, the slender man rereads a line, then looks bluntly at the old man. "Are you even sure she's still alive?" questioned the slender man. Not appreciating the tone, the old man bluntly responded, "Don't be ridiculous; why else would I have this done?" Pulling from within his jacket a piece of paper, the slender man hands it over, "I'll need this signed for proof." The old man inspects it, his eyes land at the end, he looks off into the distance and tears well.

She sat in a comfortable floral chair, fresh and new, surrounded by books. Her face was sad but young. Her cheeks smooth save two lines on either side of her blue eyes—a knock at the door. She was engrossed in a book and did not notice. The knock comes again. She abruptly jumps to her feet, the chair forms into its original shape. The young lady walks to the door and opens it. On the other side is the slender man with a briefcase. Inviting him in, the young lady asks, "Is there anything I can get you?" The slender man responds snidely, "No, I won't be here long. He pulls from the briefcase the little black notebook and hands it to her. There's a page bookmarked; she opens to it directly. The young lady's blue eyes move through the words, growing more worrisome the further down the page they run. She comes to the end of the page, and the slender man impatiently pulls out an envelope and hands it to her. She opens the envelope, which encases a check for twenty-thousand dollars. The young lady's blue eyes linger on the number, no emotion. The slender man mockingly remarked, "He was a poor man, but he was your father."